


The Obliviousness Is Strong With This One

by immoralq



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, because there has to be, but not much of one, don't say you weren't warned, it's just a lot of fluff and pining and a bit of angst, the merest smidgen of a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoralq/pseuds/immoralq
Summary: After Spider-Man drops in to save his tight bubble butt, Wade decides that he will win the heart of his fair rescuer.  Trouble is, Peter doesn't seem to recognise when he's being wooed.  Will Wade ever catch his Spider?





	1. A Meeting of the Minds (Sort Of)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written anything, let alone posted anything, and I'm not sure I've got Wade's voice right (or Peter's, for that matter), so I'm hesitant about this. Also, this is not beta-read - my lovely beta is on a massive overseas holiday touring around Europe (half her luck!) - and I've not been able to find anyone else reliable. This means that all typos, grammatical and spelling errors and any other boo-boos are mine. Mine, I tell you!
> 
> Oh, and I know the title is terrible - it's just a working one. I'll think up a better one later.

In hindsight, Peter should have realised that something was….not quite right. No, ‘not quite right’ didn’t describe it properly. It wasn’t the right phrase and it was a bit insulting and, well, **cruel** really, because it implied that…

“Ugh!” Peter threw his hands in the air in the classic and universally recognised gesture of frustration.

He **was** frustrated. He didn’t know quite what to do, what to say, how to handle the situation. He felt like he’d regressed to his teen years.

It’s just….nothing in his life was simple. Spiderman, and working for the Bugle, and Jameson and his sporadic and troubled love life – complications, and complicated, all of them. He’d thought this one thing would be simple.

Well, not simple per se, because being friends with Deadpool would never be anything but complicated (just like the man himself), so maybe not simple. Easy was maybe a better word or, at least, easier. Easier than all of the other things in his life.

It had started innocently enough. And yes, Peter was well aware that the words ‘innocently’ and ‘Deadpool’ were mutually exclusive, thank you very much, but it fit.

  
Peter had been on patrol when it happened. It was a quiet night and he’d been just idly swinging around the city, enjoying the peace and thinking about packing it in for the night, when his Spidey-sense had started a tinglin’.

Looking down at the alley he was currently hanging over, he saw a figure in black and red, with a pair of swords of all things, fighting five heavily armed men.

He was going to leave, just walk….okay, swing away, but five against one? Peter had been there, done that, and those odds were not good. They weren’t impossible, just not good. Although the -figure - in the black and red didn’t exactly seem to be having much trouble.

At least, until one of the men got a shot off and blood sprayed over the walls of the alley.

Peter immediately dropped down into the alley, but it was too late. The red and black clad figure’s brains were dripping, along with quite an impressive amount of blood, down the dirty bricks.

The body was slumped over. One of the men went to grab one of the swords still clutched in a dead hand, but Peter was too quick.

In the space of five minutes, the men were strung up around the alley, their mouths gagged with webbing and their guns in a neat pile next to the dumpster. The police could deal with them.  
He knelt by the corpse and laid it gently on its back. Whoever he was, and Peter could see now he was definitely a ‘he’, he deserved some respect.

Then Peter spied the insignia on the man’s belt.

That, plus the swords (Katanas, his brain supplied helpfully. Japanese swords), added up to….

“Oh, crap.”

Oh, crap. That was his first thought. This was followed, rather unhelpfully, by, what should I do now? What does one do with Deadpool’s corpse?

Taking a deep breath, he leant forward and started a basic pat down. Maybe Deadpool would have a wallet? Or a licence? Or, hey, maybe a business card? He was a mercenary, after all.

Okay, it was a faint hope, but he had to try, right?

Turns out, trying to frisk Deadpool was kind of dangerous. What the mercenary had in all those pockets and pouches was, in essence, weapons, weapons, and more weapons.

For the life of him, Peter couldn’t figure out how they all **fit**. Seriously, was the costume dimensionally transcendental, like the TARDIS? Or did the inside occupy another plane of space, like the Luggage? Or was Deadpool just a genius at packing?

There were knives of all descriptions, throwing blades of every shape and size, a couple of grenades (he put those back very carefully), a set of brass knuckles (no, make that two sets, one that spelt out ‘Dead’, the other spelling out ‘pool’, in polished steel, like really weird vanity rings), nunchakus, two pairs of handcuffs (yeah, not going there) and, surprisingly, mace.

Peter couldn’t figure out why a mercenary as deadly as Deadpool would even **need** mace.

Finally, Peter found a small pile of business cards embossed with Deadpool’s insignia and listing a phone number. There was no address, but he could work with a phone number.

He may not be Tony Stark, but Peter was pretty good with a computer and he had his laptop in his backpack, which he’d stashed in a web cocoon a couple of blocks away. Figuring Deadpool wasn’t going to get any deader, he took the 10 minutes for retrieval.

Yup, Deadpool was still pretty much dead. He pulled out his laptop, booted it up and ran a trace on the phone number. Hmmm, looked like the warehouse district. Of course Deadpool lived in a warehouse – where else would be big enough to store all his weapons?

Well, this wasn’t going to be pleasant, but a spider’s gotta do what a spider’s gotta do.

He packed up his computer, swung his backpack over his shoulders, knelt down and picked up the corpse, swinging it over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Then he was off. Webslinging was a lot harder carrying so much extra weight. For such a fit guy, Deadpool was awful heavy. He was also slippery, and Peter nearly dropped him a few times slinging between buildings.

Finally, though, they were there. It was a dingy, badly-lit area and Peter was glad he had superpowers, ‘cause he wouldn’t like to be caught around here without them. He’d be a smear on the sidewalk for sure.

He found Deadpool’s warehouse and landed in front of the main doors. A blinking light on an electronic scanner was the only indication there was any security. It looked like a fingerprint scanner, so Peter gently put his burden down and kept him upright whilst he tugged off one of the red and black gloves and manoeuvred the bare hand to the scanner pad.

A green light flashed, something beeped and the door swung open, creaking.

Yeah, that wasn’t ominous or anything.

It was too, too easy. He’d expected it to be harder to break into a superhero’s lair. They were all about security, weren’t they? Hell, the Fantastic Four’s tower had flamethrowers. He been able to dodge, of course, but….. **flamethrowers**. Deadpool should have at least, what? Circular saw blades and spikes dropping from the ceiling? Or maybe lasers? He was pretty sure Deadpool was friends with some guy who did the techno stuff.

But, as he carried the dead man into said man’s humble abode…..nothing. No traps, no lasers, no nasty surprises at all. His spidey-sense was giving him nary a mild tingle.

What there was, to Peter’s surprise, was a fairly neat and tidy interior. It had been partitioned off into sections, with doorways and paths between them. One was clearly an armoury, judging by the insane amount of weapons ( **was that a surface-to-air missile launcher?!** ) it contained. Another was a kind of kitchen, with a fridge and a microwave and cupboards. A third was some kind of entertainment area; television, PS3, Blu-ray DVD player, couch and a sound system set up for maximum viewing pleasure.

Beyond all that, there was a slightly larger section with a punching bag, a wooden training dummy, some mats and a dart board. Judging by the holes in it, the dart board hadn’t had darts thrown at it in a long time, if at all.

Then there was a bathroom section, with a jerry-rigged shower, toilet and sink and, finally, a section with a king-size bed, nightstand and wardrobe.

Peter gently laid Deadpool on the bed and gave him the once-over. He was healing fast. His face was recognizable as having all the features a face should have, and the back of his head was already healed up and the skin beginning to grow over it. Presumably his brain was already whole inside his skull, but Peter really had no idea how Deadpool’s healing factor actually worked. His own was nowhere near as strong, and the only other person whose was didn’t exactly welcome questions.

He was pretty sure the merc would heal perfectly, and be back to normal, by morning, but Peter decided he’d better hang around and make sure. There didn’t seem to be any chairs in sight, which left just one option. He was going to regret this, oh, yes, he was, but, albeit reluctantly, he lay down on the bed, facing Deadpool, and settled in to keep watch.

  
\-----

  
The first thing Wade heard when he woke up was a slightly chirpy Yellow screaming at him.

[Oh, be quiet, Yellow.] Thank god for White. He kept his calm.

<Hey!> Yellow protested. <I can keep my calm…sort of!  Anyway, I thought **I** was the rational one. I was in the last story! >

[Yeah, but nice people told the author that I was the calm and rational one, and you were the crazy one, so she’s switched us around in an attempt to make her characterisation better.]

<Characterisation, schmaracterisation!> Yellow was screeching now.<I **liked** being the rational one! It’s not **fair**! >

“Dudes, chill out.” Wade tried to soothe them. He felt pretty good for having his head blasted off, and he didn’t need them giving him a headache. Not that it would be more than a 10 second headache (healing factor!), but he still didn’t need it.

“I’m sure the author will make you the rational one in the next story, Yellow,” Wade tried to reassure the manic box.

[If there is a next story,] baited White.

In order to forestall any further arguments, Wade carefully sat up and checked himself over. Hmm, hands, arms, legs and feet all attached properly. He felt around his head. Yup, all healed up nicely, brain in full working order…mostly.

A light snore interrupted his perusal and he turned and looked down to see, “Spidey!”

[Spiderman must have bought us home last night, and he stayed to make sure we’re okay!] White sounded unusually giddy at the idea.

“This definitely means he like us, right guys?”

<Oh, hells, yeah!> Yellow was cheering. <He likes us!  He likes us!  He likes us!>

But, hang on….Wade reached up again, although he knew his hands would just confirm what he’d realised when he first woke up – he wasn’t wearing his mask!

“Crap, guys, he’s seen us without our mask! He probably had to go throw up before he came to bed.”

Yellow started crying.

[But he stayed anyway, and that was when half our head was missing. I don’t think our scars are going to bother him.]

Yellow stopped crying, sniffled a bit, and asked, <Really?>

[Yes.] White’s bluntness was actually kind of reassuring.

“Yeah, I think White’s right. I think we’ll be okay.”

<He likes us! He likes us! He likes us!>

Yellow could be so annoying. Like, teenager-overdosing-on-hormones level of annoying.

Yellow blew a raspberry.

Wade grinned to himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was newly healed, he had company and he was hungry. Pancake time!

 

\-----

 

Peter emerged from the murkiness of some strange dream, blinked his eyes a couple of times and tried to focus. Why was he wearing his costume in bed? Come to think of it, his bed was really big. Why was his bed so big? It wasn’t this big yesterday. And why could he hear a low humming? Were those pancakes he could smell?

As his brain kicked in, it all came back to him. He’d fallen asleep keeping an eye on a badly injured Deadpool. Who, it appeared as he looked around, wasn’t on the bed anymore. The only evidence that it wasn’t all some crazy hallucination were the few patches of dried blood on the pillow next to his.

He cocked his head, listening to a quite nice tenor voice singing…. _Itsy-Bitsy-Spider_? Peter shook his head, sighed, got up and followed his nose back to the kitchen cubicle.

Sure enough, there was Deadpool. Peter stopped, and stared, and thanked whatever deities were up there that he was still in costume, because he wouldn’t be able to disguise his reaction for a Nobel Prize.

Deadpool was flipping a pancake, which was a perfectly normal and ordinary thing to do. Sure, he was singing a children’s nursery rhyme while he did it (as some kind of homage to himself, Peter guessed) but, from what Peter had heard from the Avengers about Deadpool, that was also perfectly normal only….he wasn’t sure about the black boots, black stockings, black miniskirt and red shirt. Or the 50’s style frilled apron either, for that matter.

Okay, so the boots were combat boots – that was expected. And they matched in well with everything else the merc was wearing, which was a bit surprising. Maybe combat boots were the new black?

Wait, did that even make sense?

Peter was only confusing himself, so he decided to spread the confusion around. He cleared his throat and said, “I like the boots.”

Deadpool turned to look at him and still managed to catch the pancake he was flipping without missing a beat.

Peter would be a tad jealous, if he wasn’t Spider-Man and perfectly capable of doing the exact same thing if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Mostly ‘cause flipping pancakes looked cool, but it was easier to use a spatula.

“Hey, Spidey! We’re making pancakes to say thank you!”

Now that the merc was all healed up, Peter was getting an up-close-and-personal view of his face, which wasn’t….what could he say that didn’t sound nasty? Even if he was saying it internally.

Deadpool wasn’t ugly. He had good bone structure, nice eyes, a shy, almost sweet, smile and a very nice body. The skirt and shirt did nothing to hide the man’s nicely toned legs, trim waist and broad shoulders.

He looked like he could pick Peter up anytime he wanted and pretty much….okay, brain, let us not go there! Yes, Deadpool is delectable and definitely doable, but he’s also a mercenary and reputedly slightly crazy.

And the rumours about his cancer were also apparently true. The man’s face was lined with lumps and scars and all of them looked red and painful. If they were as painful as they looked, then it was probably a miracle that Deadpool wasn’t even crazier than he’d been told. How much pain could one person take before something broke inside?

“Sit down, Spidey, we don’t want the pancakes to go cold!”

He did as the man suggested and took a seat at the small table. The array of bottles on it was truly spectacular. Peter didn’t know which to start with when a plate was put in front of him.

He carefully rolled up his mask to expose his mouth and tentatively took a bit of the pancakes.

They were delicious! And suddenly Peter was ravenous. Dinner had been about 12 hours ago, after all. He looked through the bottles until he found the maple syrup and drizzled it over the stack liberally.

After a few minutes, Deadpool joined him and they ate in comfortable silence and, after he’d chased every last morsel around his plate and put the knife and fork together neatly, Peter could honestly say it was one of the best meals he’d had in his life, and in the best company.

Being a well brought up young man, he said as much and couldn’t quite believe the reaction.

“Really?”

“Of course. You’re a good cook and I enjoyed eating with you.”

That got him the biggest smile and he felt the corners of his mouth lift in response.

“See White, Yellow was right, he likes us!”

The merc sprang up from the table and started bopping around the kitchen, chanting, “He likes us, he like us!”

Peter didn’t quite know what to make of it but figured, when in Rome, so he got up, grabbed Deadpool by the waist and joined in.

They were both laughing like mad men by the time whatever song it was Deadpool was dancing to in his head finished and, as they slid into a heap on the floor, Peter said, “I haven’t laughed this hard in forever. This was fun. **You’re** a lot of fun. Tell White that Yellow was definitely right. I **do** like you.”

“White knows.”

“Hey, why don’t you come round to mine some time?”

Deadpool just stared at him, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Really? You really want us to come visit?”

“Sure. We’re friends and I don’t have many of those. So, d’you want to come to my place on Friday?”

“Sure!”

“Okay, then.” Peter grabbed his backpack from where he’d left it near the door, and fished around until he found a pen and paper. He scribbled his address down and handed it over.

“So, see you on Friday, Deadpool?”

“You can call us Wade, Spidey. Friends should be on a first name basis, shouldn’t they?”

Peter hesitated, then pulled his mask all the way off, flashed a smile, and replied, “You can call me Peter then.”

“Petey-pie!” Wade squealed, and Peter just smiled ruefully and shook his head.

“See you Friday, Wade!”

Once he was out on the street and slinging his way home, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. It wasn’t as though he’d told Wade his full name, but he couldn’t have the man over and leave his mask on. It would be rude, especially after he’d already seen Wade without **his** mask.

And Wade knew how keep a secret, so his identity should be safe and, really, the whole secret identity thing was just to protect his loved ones and Deadpool was basically invincible. No-one was going to be able to kill him to get to Peter.

Well, whatever happened, Peter liked Deadp- **Wade** , and he didn’t have that many friends that he could shrug one off just because he was a little worried, so he’d just deal with things as they happened.

 


	2. Let The Courting Begin (He’s Trying)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade really is trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still not beta-ed, so my apologies for any boo-boos.

Friday came quickly.

<Time flies when you’re killing people!> Yellow was chirpy.

“Should we wear something a bit nicer?”

[We’re not going on a **date** ,] White said. [Our usual clothes should do.]

“But we want to look good, don’t we? We like Petey-pie. We want to date him, so shouldn’t we make our intentions clear?”

[He won’t date **us**. He friend zoned us already, remember?]

“He might change his mind. We can be charming when we put our minds to it, and we’re putting our minds to it. We are going to _court_ him.”

<Yeah!> cheered Yellow, brimming with enthusiasm. <We can charm the fangs out of a cobra, baby! We should be called ‘The Merc With The Charm!’>

[Except we **aren’t** , because we aren’t **that** charming and he won’t date us.]

<Don’t be such a grumpy-gus, White! We are charming **and** sincere – unlike certain princes we could name – and we **are** going to date him. >

[We don’t have the rugged good looks of Chris Pine.]

<No, but we **do** have the sexy body of Ryan Reynolds! >

“That’s true!  Okay, guys, we’re going for jeans and a t-shirt. A nice red t-shirt.”  Wade paused, hand hovering over another piece of clothing half hung up in his messy wardrobe.

“Or should we wear the slinky dress?”

[No. We don’t want to scare him off.  Stick to our original choice,] White advised. [Simple and stylish.]

<Yeah, let’s save the dress for a special occasion,> Yellow agreed. <We will look good anyway!>

So Wade pulled on his best (okay, only) pair of blue jeans, a red tee, his gloves and mask and finally a pair of highly polished black boots, and surveyed himself in the mirror.

[What about our weapons?]

<We need our blades!>

“But we’re going to Spidey’s house!  We won’t need weapons.”

[Knives in the boots,] insisted White. [New York is dangerous. What if we get mugged?]

Wade burst out laughing.  “We don’t need our weapons to handle two bit punks.  Our body should be classified as a lethal weapon.”

<Knives! Knives! Knives!>

He shrugged. He hadn’t been serious about the idea anyway. Deadpool without weapons was like Mexican food without tacos.

So he slid knives into his boots and secreted a few throwing stars about his person.  Thus armed, and feeling confident, he double checked the address Petey-pie had given him and headed out.

When he got to Peter’s building, he went straight for the stairs. The elevator looked like something left over from when Wolverine was born, and he didn’t like them anyway. Too easy to get trapped and not enough space to swing a cat, let alone his Katanas.

As he knocked on Peter’s door, he could hear the muted sounds of talking, interspersed with music. Was Petey having a party?  Had he been invited to a _party_?

<Awesome! Parties rock!>

[As long as we don’t kill anyone, we’ll be fine.]

“We wouldn’t kill Petey’s friends!  Well….not unless they annoyed us beyond our tolerance.”

That was a sobering thought.

<Nah, we have lots of tolerance. Don’t we, White?>

[Yeah,] drawled White. [Lots.]

It was never a good thing when White was sarcastic.

The door opened and there was Petey, dressed in a pair of black jeans and a sweater, looking just as sexy as they remembered.

“Petey-pie!”

Peter smiled, a red flush staining his cheeks.  “Hi, Wade.”  He opened the door wider and said, “Come on in.”

“It sounds like you’re having a party, Petey-pie,” Wade said as he sauntered through the door.  “We didn’t dress for a party.”

“Erm,” Peter looked a bit lost for words.  “It’s just a few of my friends.  Come through and I’ll introduce you.”

Wade followed Peter through a short hallway and into a living area.  Petey hadn’t been kidding – there were only three people in the room. They were all sitting in front of a TV; two of them holding Xbox controllers and the third watching and occasionally cheering.

“Hey, guys!” Peter called, trying to make himself heard over the racket. 

“Eh-hem!”

“Sorry, MJ.  I’ll try again. Hey, guys **and** gals!”

All three looked up and Peter made introductions.  The cute red-head who’d cleared her throat in a pointed way, and was apparently winning whatever they were playing, was called Mary-Jane.

“But you can call me MJ,” she said.

“My lady MJ,” Wade bowed extravagantly, bending over her hand. 

To his surprise, she actually blushed.

<Ha!  See?  We can be charming when we try!> crowed Yellow.

The dark-haired hottie she was playing against turned out be Harry.  Harry Osborn, in point of fact.  Petey was friends with the Green Goblin’s son?  Eh, but who was he to judge?

The guy who had been cheering them on was a dirty blonde who introduced himself as Flash and, as they shook hands, Wade could feel himself being sized up.  This friend had some training, he could tell. And it was more than likely to be military training.

[Our Petey-pie has some interesting friends.]

None of them had batted an eye at the mask or the gloves, both of which usually rated at least a small double-take, if not a large one.

“Would you like to play?” Harry offered politely.  

<Aw, isn’t he nice? Such good manners!>

[Are we going to play?]

“What’s the game?”

“Left 4 Dead 2.”

“Yeah, I think we’ll just watch, and maybe hide behind Petey when the scary bits happen, thanks.”

<No fair! I wanna kill zombies!>

[We do enough killing for our day job and we like racing games better anyway.]

Harry looked at him with this strange combination of concern and curiousity. Since no-one usually felt _any_ concern at all for Wade, he clarified, “Bad memories, okay?”

At that Harry just looked confused, but he only shrugged and said, “Sure.  Whatever you say.”

Then he added, “Pete has other games.  What about Forza Horizon?”

“I don’t play much Xbox. I’m a PlayStation man, myself.  What’s it about?”

“Car racing.”

“Oh, yeah.  We be down for that. Lead us to the controller, baby!”

Harry flashed a relieved smile and sat down next to MJ, squashing up against her to make room for Wade.  Flash changed the discs over and passed him a controller and he promptly forgot about everything as he focused on the game.

Of course, Yellow kept up a running commentary.

<You’re going for that piece of crap car?>

“It’s a classic, you ignoramus.  How can you be inside my head and be so stupid?”

“I beg your pardon?”

MJ looked confused, so Wade hastened to explain.

“It be okay, Lady MJ. I’m just talking to my boxes.  Yellow is mucho loco.  Seriously, he’s cuckoo nest crazy and the only reason we don’t call Nurse Ratched in is because even a lobotomy wouldn’t cure us.”

“Uh…”

Now he was getting the stares. All three had identical expressions of open-mouthed shock, combined with just a hint of confusion.

<It’s just a delicate hint.> Yellow put on a posh accent. <Very subtle, right at the finish. It teases the palate.>

“Healing factor, comes in handy. That’s what you get for volunteering for secret government experiments.  That, and boxes that won’t shut up.”

<Hey! You like us!>

[Sometimes.]

“Secret government experiments? Seriously?” 

Harry sounded a wee little bit sceptical and Wade found that insulting. He’d raise an eyebrow – if it wasn’t for the fact that he was wearing a mask and no-one would see it.

<Rich boys who have supervillains for daddies shouldn’t throw stones!> Yellow lectured.

[Especially if they live in big house with lots of windows.]

“Yup, really, Mr Harry.  We’s got Wolvie’s healing factor and Wolvie got his adamantium skeleton. He totally got the best part of the deal.  We shouldn’t have volunteered, but it was that or die a slow, horrible, painful death, so we made a choice.  Now we have a slow, horrible, painful life.….but we also have tacos!  Yay tacos!”

“Speaking of which,” a familiar voice interrupted.  “Food’s up!”

Wade turned around and gasped, clutching his hands to his chest dramatically. 

“Why, Peter, you shouldn’t have.” 

[Our ‘southern belle’ accent has improved.]

“If you wanted to get us into bed, darling, you’re going the right way about it.”

Peter’s face flushed a bright red and Wade squealed, “Aw, Petey, look at you blushing! You’re so adorable!”

“Wade!”

He walked over to the coffee table and put down a tray of tacos. 

Wade took the opportunity to ogle a very fine ass and, when Peter straightened up and turned around to go back to the kitchen, he whistled loudly and added, “Oh, boy, oh boy, Petey – I hate to see you leave but I sure do looooooove to watch you walk away!”

\-----

“Wade!”

Peter could feel the heat in his cheeks and he hated himself for blushing so hard.  How old was he again?  And didn’t he have superpowers?

But Wade was just so….aggressively admiring.  In some ways, it was kind of refreshing.  Wade thought he looked good and Wade said so.  He didn’t beat around the bush.  Of course, he was only doing it to tease Peter, in a friendly way, and didn’t actually _mean_ it.

Peter might have some attraction to Wade, possibly romantic, definitely sexual, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think the merc might return the attraction.  Not only was he clearly mentally unbalanced, so what he said was unreliable at best, but he was also so far out of Peter’s league they weren’t even playing the same game.

Peter wasn’t stupid. Being bitten by that spider had toned up his muscles, fixed his eyesight, improved his balance, reflexes and agility, but the only thing he knew about weapons was he didn’t know the first thing about them. 

Wade was apparently master of pretty much every weapon ever invented.

Peter spoke English, high school Spanish and some Latin (he was a scientist, after all.) 

Wade spoke at least five languages fluently according to his Wikipedia page.

Yes, Wade Wilson had a Wikipedia page.  And neither Spiderman nor Peter Parker had one of those.

Wade had a healing factor so strong he was pretty much immortal and didn’t age.

Peter had a healing factor that took a couple of days to work and seemed to be aging normally.

About the only thing they _did_ have in common was that they were both despised by the media, particularly the Bugle and J.J. Jameson.

So, yeah, nothing was going to happen.  Wade was just one of those people who flirted like they breathed. He wasn’t interested in Peter, and Peter wasn’t really interested in a friends-with-benefits. Call him old-fashioned, but he wanted a partner, in every sense of the word, and Wade was great, but…no.

“Hey, Petey-pie, whatcha doin’ in there?  And can we watch?”

Peter shook his head regretfully, napkins clutched in his hands as he walked back into the living room.

Wade greeted him with, “Hello again, baby boy.  Were you doing something naughty in there?  And if you were, please tell us you recorded it – we’d love to see the footage!

Peter couldn’t help himself – he burst out laughing. Wade was just so…so… _Wade_.  He was funny in an over-the-top way, handsome, made great pancakes….and he’d never look twice, seriously, at Peter…

“Hey, baby boy, what’s turned that smile upside down?  Did someone do something mean to you? Would you like us to kill someone for you?  Just say the word.”

Peter smiled at that as, behind Wade, he saw Harry choke on his drink and MJ look horrified.  Flash seemed to be taking it all stride, which didn’t surprise Peter at all. 

“That’s better, baby boy.  You look so much more adorkable when you smile. I like it.”

“Thank you, Wade.  I like it when you smile too.”

“Aw, I’m blushin’ behind this here mask, Petey-pie.  You say the nicest things.  I knew I should have worn my prettiest dress for you.”

MJ’s eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets at that, Peter was amused to note, but she didn’t miss a beat when she said, “Is it black? You can never go wrong with a little black dress. Works every time.”

Peter, grateful for the distraction, shot her a quick, ‘thank you, I love you, you’re an amazing best friend’ look, deposited the napkins on the table and then sat down on the sofa and motioned for Harry to join him.

MJ was having what Peter guessed to be a very surreal conversation with Wade and he eavesdropped as he played the Xbox with Harry, stopping every now and then to eat tacos.

“No, really, every girl needs a little black dress.  It’s suitable for every occasion and you don’t need to worry about matching shoes or bags or make-up because everything goes with black.”

“We always preferred red.  We have a lovely little number in our wardrobe we keep for special occasions. We were going to wear it tonight, but White said we should stick to simple and stylish and not to try to scare Petey away and Yellow agreed and so we went casual.”

MJ nodded and Wade leaned in and whispered, sotto voce, “We aren’t even wearing our prettiest undies.”

After that, Peter tried very hard not to listen, but he still caught snatches here and there.

“…I don’t bother with Victori-…”

“…Saks has lousy…”

“…you can’t get a decent range of sizes….”

“…black is flattering on ever-…”

“…red would suit y-….”

“…Frederick’s of Holl-…”

“…make-up isn’t easy fo-…”

“…better with M-…”

“…what about jewell-…”

“…you know what Marilyn says…”

“…I think every girl should know what Marilyn says…”

Peter looked up from his game long enough to see Wade and MJ smile in near perfect unison, but over what he couldn’t imagine. 

They’d clearly bonded, though, and that was good.  That was actually great. Peter wanted his friends to like Wade and even if it was just MJ who seemed to at the moment, well, that was a good start.

Flash elbowed Peter, who lost control of his car, swore, crashed and lost the race. He turned and glared at Flash, who just yanked the controller out of Peter’s hands and handed it over to Harry.

“Get Wade to have another race with you.  I gotta talk to Petey.”

Harry was still nodding in agreement when Flash stood up and dragged Peter into the kitchen. 

“Flash, what are you doing?” 

“Listen, Peter, what d’you know about Wade?” was the urgent question he got in reply.

“Uh….”

“You know he’s a killer, right?”

“What?!” Peter was dumbfounded. “What makes you say that?”

“Takes one to know one, Peter.”

Peter sighed.  He didn’t have any right to out Wade as Deadpool, but he could tell Flash wasn’t going to let this go.  Better to tell some of the truth up front and hopefully his friend would be satisfied with that.

“He’s a mercenary.”

“A merc?!  Peter, are you crazy?!”

“No, but I think he is – slightly.  PTSD, I think.  Or maybe even worse.”

“So…..he wasn’t kidding about the military experiments?”

Peter watched a lot of emotions as they flickered over Flash’s face: horror, disgust, indignation, speculation, thoughtfulness, sympathy.

“That’s….” he seemed to be struggling to find the words.  “Peter, man, that’s not right.”

Peter nodded in agreement.  “I know, Flash.”

There was a pause and then, “Okay, okay.  Look, Pete, just be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful, Flash.  Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to everyone who hit the kudos button, or sent me a comment, after I posted the first chapter. If I haven't replied to your comments, I will get there. You are all magnificent!


	3. The Old Ones Are the Best (We Hope)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peter isn't doing so well. Wade helps.

Wade waited a few days after the sort-of party before visiting Peter again.  He would’ve gone the very next day, but White advised otherwise.

[We don’t want to seem too eager.  We want to court him.  Also, we want to woo him, not stalk him.]

<But we’re good at stalking!  It’s one of the things we do best!>

[And the other is killing, but we don’t want to kill Petey.] There was a thoughtful pause.  [Do we?]

“Of course not!”  Wade was offended at the very idea!  He’d never touch a hair on Peter’s head in any kind of violent manner.

<Unless he asked us to.>

[Yellow, you’re incorrigible!]

Now White was the one who was offended. 

“I don’t think he’s into that kind of thing, anyway,” muttered Wade, glaring at himself in the mirror he was, once again, standing in front of.

[We need more clothes.]

Wade sighed.  “Yeah, I know.  But we’ve never tried to **woo** anyone before.  Not really.  We’ve never needed anything besides our costume.”

[Then we should go shopping first.] 

<No!  Not a mall!  Not a MALL!!!>

“Yeah, I’m thinking a mall probably isn’t a good idea.  We need a thrift shop.”

[Good idea.  Peace and quiet, and probably no screaming kids.]

“We like kids!” Wade protested.

[But not when they scream.]

“Okay, agreed.  We go thrift shopping and we get some more jeans and maybe some trousers and shirts, too.”

< _If_ we can find them in red or black. >

“When did you get so fussy, Yellow?”

<When I realised I’m the only one of the three of us with any fashion sense whatsoever!>

Well, there wasn’t any arguing with that, so Wade left his costume on and left, whistling as he locked up and wandered up the street, wondering where you found thrift stores in New York, anyway?

He had no idea, so he just walked, enjoying the warm weather and nodding at random people passing by – it was kind of fun when they freaked.

He wondered if Petey would think it was fun?  Probably not.  Petey was a very serious superhero.  Well, okay, **mostly** serious.  He wisecracked the bad guys, not civilians. Wade didn’t care to make that distinction – **everybody** was entitled to the greatness that was his sparkling wit and ribald sense of humour.

[Whether they wanted it or not.]

Ouch.  Wasn’t White supposed to be on **his** side?

<Not everybody appreciates us the way we do.>   If Yellow had hands, one would be dramatically pressing up his forehead (if he had a forehead, that is.)  <Tis a curse we must learn to live with!>

White snorted and Wade chuckled to himself.  Whatever else might or might not be wrong in his life, he still had his boxes.

[You’d never manage without us.]

He was about to reply, when a sign caught his eye. 

“That’s what we’re looking for!”

It wasn’t much of a shop.  It looked like something straight out of a Dickens novel.  The windows were dirty; clearly the only time water ever touched them was when the rain blew in.  There was a pleasant jangling noise as he pushed open the door – a bell, above the door, of all things.

The inside wasn’t much better than the outside. It was dusty and musty and other things ending in ‘usty’.  Clothes were piled over every square inch of space.  They were hanging from racks, draped over cupboards and dumped in boxes. 

<Geez,> chirped Yellow.  <It’s like we’ve wandered straight into a Terry Pratchett book.  Now where’s the->

Before Yellow could even finish, a head popped over what Wade realised must be the counter. 

“Looking for something in particular?”

[Oh-kay,] drawled White. [That’s a surprise.]

“Why?”

[Because the stereotype usually runs towards someone of the male persuasion running this kind of shop.]

The head tilted to one side, puzzled. “Why, what?”

“Oh, sorry.  I was talking to my boxes!”

The head tilted to the other side, appeared to be considering this, and then popped back down.  There were sounds of a struggle, a few oofs and oomphs, and then the head appeared again, this time attached to a body.

“Tell your boxes that stereotyping is wrong and not to make snap judgements.”

Wade was taken aback.  No, seriously - he was so surprised he took a step back. 

“Oh, don’t.  I’m just a little ole telepath, never meanin’ no harm.”

<La la la la, we’re not think-ing, la la la la la!>

She grimaced and rolled her eyes.  “Please don’t do that.”

[We can’t help it.  We find telepaths scary.]

<And annoying. But mostly annoying. La la la la la!>

“DON’T DO THAT!”

The shout was mental as well as vocal and, quite astoundingly, White and Yellow actually shut up.  Wade was impressed.  Even **he** couldn’t get them to do that, and it was his head they were in.

She smiled and said, “That’s better, thank you.  Now,” she clapped her hands together and then rubbed them briskly.  “What can I help you with?”

<Shouldn’t she know already?” Yellow whispered, sounding scared.

“Clothes, yes?” The smile had gone from warm and amused to brittle and false and Wade could tell he was getting on her last nerve.  Well, not **him** , exactly.  The **boxes** were getting on her last nerve. So he just nodded and she nodded back, then she looked him up and down for a moment before delving into the piles.

Jeans, trousers, shirts, t-shirts, skirts and dresses came flying up to land neatly on the counter; reds and blacks and dark blues and greens all jumbled together.  It was quite an impressive sight, really. 

<She’s not even looking!>

The woman popped up out of the piles of clothing, briefly, to glare at him, before she disappeared back into the fabric.

Out of sheer curiosity, Wade edged closer to the counter and took a look at what he was apparently going to be buying.

[We don’t have to buy it if we don’t like it,] White pointed out in a very reasonable and logical way.

<We do if we want to leave here alive!>

“I agree with Yellow.  This woman has some kind of mystic, mutant-y vibe going on.  We’re gonna be broke by the time she’s done with us, and lucky to escape with our life.”

<We have a healing factor!  We can’t die!>

[Yes we can. We just keep coming back.  Like episodes of Star Trek on cable t.v.]

“Plus, just because we can come back, doesn’t mean we like dying.  Its hell on our clothes – we can **never** get the stains out!”

<True.> 

That was a huge concession from Yellow, and Wade didn’t want to push his luck, so he picked up a few garments and took a closer look.

It wasn’t all bad, really.  There were some nice black trousers, a few pairs of jeans in black and the ever popular blue, some really nice button downs in black, red and dark blue and even a little black dress, just like M.J. said he should have, but with blood red panels up either side.  It was a slinky little number and he loved it as soon as he picked it up.

There were some great t-shirts too. Star Trek, Star Wars, Firefly, Doctor Who, The Grateful Dead –

[No comment.]

\- Queen, one advertising a Mexican restaurant that had the ‘best tacos in town’, another with tour dates for Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ concerts and yet another with advertising for a game called ‘Plants vs. Zombies’. 

<This is more clothes than we’ve owned in our life, ever!>   Yellow sounded a little awed, but Wade just hoped it wasn’t going to be **too** expensive.  He had his eye on a new Gatling gun and he’d been saving extra hard.

A few more articles of clothing floated up and something with a red silk lining landed on his head.  He pulled it off to discover a worn but clean black leather jacket that smelled faintly of salsa.  Pretty much perfect for him, then.

<Nice!>

On top of the already huge pile landed another jacket, this one on a hanger.  Which was, apparently, because it had a pair of trousers with it.

<Oh, boy, a real suit!  Now we just need suspenders and a fedora and we’ll be Frankie!>

[As in, Frankie Goes To Hollywood?]

<What? No! Frank Sinatra, baby!  Why would you ask such a question, anyway?  Aren’t we in the same head?>

Wade started to hum ‘That Old Black Magic’ as he shuffled through the pile, exclaiming over this and that whilst a few more items magically appeared out of the air.

[Her clothing-fu is impressive.]   And that was the closest White had ever come to respecting another person.

The last thing added was a big bag, so Wade just grabbed it and started stuffing the clothes into it.  The woman’s head appeared over the counter again and he paused in his packing briefly to ask, “How much.”

“Hundred.”

[Huh.] White was surprised.  [That’s cheaper than we thought.]

<Take the deal! Take the deal!>

He ignored them both, reached into one of his many pouches for his wallet, pulled out a nice crisp note and handed it over. 

“Hey, can you tell me if there’s a florist around here?”

An arm appeared and pointed to the right.

“That way, three blocks down.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”  He tipped an imaginary hat at the woman, grabbed his bag of clothes and made his way to the flower shop.

In contrast to the thrift store, it was light and airy, with sparkling clean windows and flower arrangements displayed tastefully everywhere.  The whole shop gave off an aura of calm and tranquillity and zen-ness.

[Well, I suppose it’s better than things ending in ‘usty’.]

<Ooh, snap!>

There was a door behind the counter and, as he approached, the beaded curtain covering it was pushed aside and a young woman with bright pink hair and even brighter pink lipstick was smiling at him.

This was such an unusual reaction that he was, once again, taken aback (this time without actually stepping back.) 

No, people usually saw the costume and mask and the Katanas and freaked right the fuck out.  And Wade didn’t actually have a problem with that – his reputation preceding him and all that – but it was a bit annoying when he had to interact with normal, everyday ordinary people.

And since it was ordinary, normal everyday people who ran shops and restaurants and other places he needed to go to (to do things like buy food and other necessities of life) it wasn’t as fun freaking them out as it was freaking out the villains……and the Avengers.  Let’s be honest here – he just looooved freaking Hawkass out. And Tony Starkbutt. 

It was less fun freaking out Dr. Banman, because Hulky could pick him up and throw him against a wall and shatter every bone in his body and that took _days_ to heal properly and totally wasn’t worth it.

Anyway, Banman and Starkbutt were the only ones who actually deigned to treat him like he was a human, not a freak of nature enhanced and mutated by a bunch of Dr. Mengele wannabes messing around with things man was not meant to.

<Hey! There were scary lady scientists as well. Don’t be sexist!>

Yellow was cackling like the fiend from hell Wade sometimes was _certain_ he was. 

[If he’s a fiend from hell, what am I?]

It was a good question, and a good point, for which he only had one answer.

“You are too. Logic and reason are just as scary as crazy and irrational, y’know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you, I was talking to my box.” He reassured the woman.  “We like your hair, it’s really pretty.”

“Oh.”

<She’s blushing!  We made someone blush, and without putting a gun to their head!  We can **so** do this whole courting thing! >

[Interesting.]

“Uh…..is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks!  We need some flowers for, y’know, a present for someone.”

“Ah.”  Her face cleared and Wade could tell she’d shifted into some kind of professional mode, which was good, because he seriously _needed_ professional help.

[That’s terrible, even for us.]

“So, what kind of flowers does your someone like?”

“I…..don’t know?”

That hadn’t helped, but he really didn’t know what kind of flowers Petey liked.  I mean, it hadn’t come up in recent conversation, had it?  He knew he was a bit scatter-brained sometimes (that’s what happens when people put bullets through it) but he’s pretty sure he would’ve remembered if Petey had said something like, “Daisies are my favourite flower, because they’re so friendly.”

[I don’t think he would’ve said that, anyway, it’s practically copyrighted.]

<We’re not doing too badly with the pop culture references in this story, are we?>

[Not too badly at all, but we could have some more modern ones.  Still, we’ll take what we can get.]

“Well,” she pursed her lips in thought and then asked, “What are his favourite colours?”

That was an easy, peasy one; he didn’t even have to think about it to know the answer to that one.

“Red and blue.”

“Okay, I can work with that.   But, just to get this out of the way before I go recommending anything – are you on a budget?”

“Nah.”  He waved dismissively and clarified, “I killed a really nasty dictator for the government last week – I’m rolling in so much dough you could deep fry me, dip me in cinnamon sugar and eat me like a donut.”

She stared at him, blinked a few times, stared at him some more, and then said, in a very faint voice, “Oh.”

<Whoops!  I think we broke her brain!> 

Yellow was cackling again.  It was slightly unnerving, even for a mind box.

[She’ll be fine.]  White was trying to be reassuring, Wade could tell, but it wasn’t working.

After a few seconds more of staring, she seemed to snap out of it, shook her head and then smiled at him again.

“Well, if money’s no object, how about roses?”

“Can you get roses in blue?”

“Oh, sure.  But you don’t have to have all roses, either. You could get red roses and forget-me-nots, or hyacinths, or hydrangeas. Or you could get blue roses and another kind of red flower; there’s carnations and hibiscus and tulips and poppies.”

Wade considered for a moment.  Horticulture wasn’t really his speciality, unless you were talking poisons, but roses and tulips sounded right.  He was pretty sure those were the ones in all those romantic movies, right?

[Right.]

<Right.>

 “Okay, two dozen each of blue roses and red tulips, please?”

“Certainly, sir.  How would you like them arranged?”

“Arranged?  Oh, you know, just in a bunch.”

“A posy?   Easily done.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

She disappeared behind the beaded curtain and Wade heard humming.  It didn’t seem to take long, and she was back again with a huge bouquet of flowers, tied up with blue and red ribbon.  The ribbon had glitter on it.

“There you are, sir,” she said, handing it over.  “Blue moon roses and scarlet baby tulips.  That’ll be seventy dollars.”

[Huh. Cheaper than the clothes.]

Wade ignored White, pulled out his wallet and handed over another crisp note.  She tried to give him the change, but she’d been so nice (and he was so flush right now) that he just told her to keep it and, as he left, she called, “Whoever those are for is a very lucky person.”

Thankfully, for him, no one could see him blushing under the mask.

\-----

The loud knocking woke him from his fitful sleep and he groaned, shaking his head in a silent plea.  No, no, no.  Go away.  Go away.

But the knocking didn’t go away and, groaning some more, Peter very reluctantly and very slowly got out of his nice warm bed and pulled on his dressing gown.  He pulled it as tight around himself as he could get and flipped up the hood – he could at least keep his head warm.  He pushed his feet into the pair of Ugg boots Flash had bought him back from Australia after he’d been stationed there for a few months.  They were very warm and comfortable and, apparently, very expensive, which is why they’d been all he’d gotten compared to the mountain of gifts Flash had bought back for MJ.  Peter was pretty sure that was just an excuse for spoiling her though.

The knocking continued, so Peter shuffled through his apartment to his door and opened it up.  The first sight that met his eyes was a bright red mask, and Peter let out a truly terrible hacking cough and asked, “Wade?”

“Hi, Petey-pie!”

“Wade, what are you doing here?”  He managed to gasp out in the breaks between the coughs.  He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed – now he was going to have the mother of all coughing fits and it was **not** going to be pleasant.

He scrabbled around in his dressing gown pockets – he was pretty sure he’d stashed some tissues in there earlier – and came up with one measly rectangle of tissue that he knew wasn’t going to be able to hold all the phlegm that was coming up.

Unsteadily leaning on the door frame, he pulled the chain off and opened the door. Wade bounced in with a cheeriness that, at that moment, Peter truly envied.  The merc was holding a huge bouquet of red and blue flowers and Peter had to snigger at the obvious meaning behind **those.**

“Petey-pie, I brought you flowers!” Wade practically shoved the bouquet at him and Peter, touched but not really feeling up to dealing with it, waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his tiny kitchen and said, “Vase.  On the fridge.  Put them in some water for me, will ya?”

The coughing fit subsided, but some of the bounciness went out of Wade’s step and his cheeriness fell away.

“Don’t you like them, baby boy?”

“I-“

Peter was cut off by a huge sneeze, and he hastily held the tissue up to his nose to stem the worst of the flood pouring out, but the miserable little thing was already soaked in phlegm and did naff all.  He’d left the box in his bedroom, so he shuffled his way back there and grabbed a few more to shove up against his nose.

Wade had followed him in, so he collapsed onto the bed and tried to breathe normally. 

“Are you okay, baby boy?”

“I have a really bad cold and I-“  Another sneeze and he grabbed another handful of tissues to snuffle into. 

“Thank you for the flowers.  I like the colours.” The words came out a bit muffled by the wodge of tissues he had pressed up against his nose, but Wade apparently understood anyway, because the cheeriness and bounciness came flooding back as he started to jump a little in excitement.

“The lady with the pretty pink hair at the shop said you’d like them!  We’re glad we listened to her.”

What could he say to that?

“Well, you should always listen to the experts.”

Everything was starting to get fuzzy again and he wasn’t sure if he was to be able going to stay awake much longer, but Wade was being really sweet, bringing him flowers, and he had been worried that the impromptu party might have scared him off, especially with Flash being so _Flash_ , and not being able to warn the merc that his apartment had been invaded.

Unfortunately, once Peter had let it slip he had invited Wade around, his friends had been determined to be there, ostensibly to meet the ‘man who had charmed Peter so easily’ but really so they could vet the poor man and determine if he was good enough for him.

Of course, it was more a question of things being the other way around – Peter wasn’t good enough Wade – but he knew he’d never convince MJ of that, let alone Harry.  So, they’d met Wade and then they’d had one of their ‘lets-talk-about-what’s-best-for-Peter’ meetings and, even though MJ and Harry had reservations, they’d given their approval.  Flash had also given his approval, but it came with a lecture on PTSD and some pamphlets about meetings for partners of war veterans.  Which was great, but pointless, because…..what was he trying to think about, again?

His head was **really** fuzzy.

He didn’t notice that Wade wasn’t in the room anymore until his one and only vase was set down on his nightstand and a mug that smelled like honey and lemon and……rum?  Was that rum?  It was in his hands, anyway, so he certainly hoped so.

“It’s a hot toddy, baby boy.  Mama used to give them to us when we were sick.  Honey, lemon, vinegar and the alcohol of your choice all mixed up with a little hot water.”

“I didn’t know I had any alcohol except beer,” Peter muttered, savouring the warmth from the mug and the fragrant vapour rising from the top. 

“You didn’t, but we always keep a little nip of something about our person.  Good for anaesthetic, good for antiseptic and just good for keeping the world at bay.”

Peter frowned.  “I thought you had a healing factor?”

“Yeah, but there’s only me and Wolvie with one so strong.”  Wade was looking down at Peter’s comforter, tangling and twisting his fingers in it.  He was so quiet Peter almost couldn’t hear him. “Sometimes other people get caught in the cross-fire and sometimes there’s only us to help.”

“Oh.”

Peter really didn’t know what to say to that.  He knew that Wade was a killer, and a very good one.  It was what he was trained to do.  Peter himself didn’t hold with killing and avoided it at all costs.  If he took a life, he was no better than the villains he fought, but not everyone had the luxury of living in a black and white world. 

“It’s good of you to try and help them.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Wade stopped trying to make origami out of his comforter and looked up.

Peter raised the mug to his lips and drank and it was a blessing and a relief.  The honey soothed his sore throat and, by the time the mug was empty, his head was beginning to feel less like someone had twisted it up like a pretzel and more like someone had soaked it in warm water and laid it out in front of a roaring fire. He sighed in contentment.

“That’s so good.”

Peter slurred the last part, drawing out the ‘oo’ and falling back onto his pillows.  He felt, rather than saw, Wade take the mug out of his hand and he heard noises like running water, dishes clattering and his fridge being opened and closed.

Then he heard footsteps and the soft susurration of cloth and felt a weight on the bed next to him.  He mumbled in vague protest, but sleep was already pulling him down and he didn’t even realise that Wade had pulled him close, tucked the sheets, blankets and comforter all around them and held on tight.

He just knew it was warm; so, so, warm, and that he felt safe.  So very safe.

And when he woke up, his head was clear and his nose was dry and his throat felt great.  He wasn’t warm anymore, though, and that was puzzling. He’d been so warm when he went to sleep, so very warm, and now he was cold and it felt like something was……missing?

Then he heard singing and, as he gingerly sat himself up, he turned and looked at his nightstand and no, his memory hadn’t deceived him and it hadn’t all been a fever dream; there was a vase full of blue and red flowers, and Wade really **had** visited yesterday, and now the man was in his kitchen singing something about a spider on a toilet seat.

Peter wondered how many songs about spiders Wade knew, and if he was going to treat Peter to renditions of _all_ of them – in kitchens.

Yawning widely, he grabbed his comforter and wrapped it around himself as he shuffled into his kitchen.

Wade was making pancakes again.  This time, though, Peter’s coffee maker was going and there was another frying pan on the stove – bacon and eggs, by the look (and smell!) of the contents.

“Petey-pie!” 

“Morning, Wade.”

Peter could’ve sworn Wade was wearing his suit yesterday, but he’d apparently changed at some point, because now he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a Doctor Who t-shirt.  It looked worn and soft and he was tempted to just cuddle in and bury his nose in it to see if felt the way it looked, and if it would smell of Wade.

“Sit, sit, Petey-pie. I made you breakfast.”

Peter shuffled over to the little table and sat down.  “Where did you get the bacon? I don’t remember having bacon? Come to think of it, I don’t remember having eggs or flour either.”

“I know!” Wade seemed a bit upset by that.  “Really, Petey, you should have more in your fridge.  And in your pantry.  At least the basics.  I went grocery shopping this morning, so you’re all set now.”

“I…..” Peter was at kind of a loss for words.  “Thank you.”

“It’s okay!  I’ve gotta take care of my baby boy.  You aren’t taking care of yourself.”

“Erm.”  Peter was a bit embarrassed.  He normally did have food on hand, it was just he’d used most of it up at the impromptu party, and then he’d got hit by the cold and hadn’t been able to go out.

“How much do I owe you?”

Peter could at least pay back the money.  He had it, after all, just hadn’t been able to spend it.  He couldn’t have Wade spending all his own money on Peter – that wouldn’t be right.

“Nope, nope, nope, Petey-pie. We’re rolling in it at the moment, so we can afford a few groceries. You already said thank you, so we’re all good.”

“The boxes agreed?  I thought they never agreed on anything?”

Wade laughed delightedly.

“Of course they agreed.  They like you, just like I like you, so we all decided groceries were a good thing.”

Somehow, Wade had kept cooking despite all the hand waving he was doing whilst talking to Peter, and he put a plate of pancakes, bacon and eggs on the table in front of Peter and added, “Get eating, Petey.  You need your energy to go out swinging on webs, and making wisecracks, and whatever else it is you do.”

Didn’t Wade know what Peter did for a living? Oh.  Huh.  It hadn’t really ever come up, had it?  Then again, Peter only knew about Wade’s job because pretty much everyone in the superhero community (He really loathed that term. Superhero. It sounded so **arrogant** _._ ) knew who Deadpool was, either by reputation or because they’d met him.  Once encountered, never forgotten, Captain America had said once to Mr. Stark. 

Mr. Stark had actually defended Deadpool, amazingly.  Whatever bullshit the tabloid media liked to spout about him, Tony was a nice guy.  Peter hadn’t exactly meant to eavesdrop, really – he couldn’t really help it if he moved so quietly nobody ever heard him coming.  Of course, it was harder to hear someone climbing on the walls and the ceiling than someone walking on the floor, but still.  He was Spiderman!  He had a reputation to maintain.

Then he’d wished he’d never tried to maintain it, because what Tony and Cap started doing after their argument was something he’d never, ever wanted to see.  Or think about.  So he ran away just as quietly as he’d arrived and tried desperately to forget he’d ever seen…..that.  No, he wasn’t thinking about it now, either.  No, no, no.  Bad.

A second plate joined the first, and Wade sat himself down and rolled his mask up to start eating.  It really did smell delicious, so Peter tucked in himself, relishing the crispy, salty bacon and the soft, gooey eggs and those oh, so heavenly fluffy pancakes.  He even had a glass of orange juice to wash it all down with.

“You,” Peter said, staring directly at Wade’s eyes, as if they weren’t covered, “are a pancake god.”

Wade blushed. 

Huh.  Interesting.  Wade had joked about how he was blushing underneath his mask, but Peter didn’t think he’d actually ever see him blush for real.  It was kind of…..adorable.

On the verge of blushing himself, Peter bent his head over his meal and they finished eating in silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see me on Tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/immoralq


	4. And The Clichés Continue (What Did You Expect?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's tried flowers, so what's next?

After their night together and subsequent breakfast, Wade had made his excuses and left, leaving Peter to clean up.  He’d thought they were becoming closer, but apparently not, because he hadn’t heard a word from the merc since.

To his own surprise, that bothered him.  He knew Wade wasn’t interested in him romantically, but he did seem to care (if the breakfasts and flowers were anything to go by) and Peter had thought they were starting to have a close friendship, if nothing else.

The thought that Wade might not feel the same was upsetting, and Peter wandered around in a bit of a fog of misery for the next week.

Saturday afternoon he was getting ready for his weekly dinner at Aunt May’s when there was a knock at the door.

As he opened it, a box of chocolates was thrust into his arms.

“Petey-pie!”

The box is huge. 

No, that’s not an exaggeration.  The box is _huge._

If it’s any shorter than 4 feet across, Peter will give up his camera.  It’s at least 2 feet wide and looks about half a foot deep.

Peter manhandles it through his doorway and tries to think of someplace to put it down.  The coffee table in the living room is closest, and the box nearly swamps it.

Wade is bouncing up and down cheerfully.

“I hope you like them, baby boy.  I got them made ‘specially for you!”

Curious, Peter lifts the lid and…..it’s actually kind of sweet?

Alternating in rows are little blue and red spiders and little webs.  There’s clearly a second layer, so Peter lifts the first, wondering what’s underneath.

And it’s alternating rows of Deadpool’s insignia and miniature Katanas – crossed, of course.

And there’s a third, and _fourth_ , layer that are duplicates of the first two. 

It’s thoughtful and charming and creative and -

There’s no way he can eat this much chocolate, not before it spoils, so he thinks quickly.

“Give me a minute.”

Wade is still bouncing, a big grin visible beneath his mask.

Peter goes into the kitchen and rummages around his cupboards.  He knows he has a box here somewhere…..

Ah, there it is!

He takes it back to the living room and starts transferring the chocolates.  The Deadpool, web and swords ones, anyway.

“Petey-pie?” 

Wade sounds confused, and a little hurt.

Turning to him with a bright smile, Peter says, “Thank for the chocolates, Wade. I love them!”

Wade lets out a loud whoop and bounces around the room, chanting, “He loves them!”

Peter laughs, feeling lighter than he has all week.

“But,” he says, and Wade stops dead and stares at Peter.

“But?” he asks, hesitantly.

“There’s too many for me to eat, and I don’t want them to spoil, so let’s go!”

Peter offers his arm, but Wade, still standing stock still, says quietly, “Where are we going?”

“To Aunt May’s house for dinner!  She’ll love the chocolates, too.”

Peter walks to his door, then turns and offers his arm again.

“Well? Are you coming?”

Wade practically runs the short length of the living room to slip his arm through Peter’s and say, “Oh, sir, I’d be honoured,” in a rather good falsetto.

Peter laughs again as they leave.

Normally, Peter would use his webs and sling his way across the city, but he can’t do that with Wade, so they take the subway.

He notices Wade gets a few strange looks.  He supposes that a large man in jeans, a _Star Trek_ t-shirt and a red mask will attract some attention, even in New York, where people are used to strange sights.

Of course, the fedora perched at a jaunty angle on top of the mask probably makes the whole outfit even stranger.

He thinks it looks strange, too – but not in a bad way. It’s more like just another one of Wade’s delightful eccentricities.

And it kind of suits him.

He can feel Wade bouncing in the seat next to him, so he turns and asks, “Are you nervous?”

There’s a short, sharp laugh and, “Fuck, yeah, Petey, I’m nervous.  I’ve never been asked home to meet an **Aunt** before.”

“She doesn’t bite, you know.”

“Sez you.  She loves **you**.  She doesn’t know me from a hill of beans, and you know how people usually react to me.  To us.  We’re mucho loco, baby boy.  We scare people.”

“You didn’t scare MJ,” Peter points out. “Or Harry.  Or Flash.”

“Your MJ is a classy lady who wouldn’t show it even if she **was** scared.”

That was true.

“And Harry is used to scary people – he’s the Green Goblin’s son, after all.”

“You know about that?”

“I may not be a superhero, baby boy, but I’m still part of the community.  Things get around.”

“I didn’t kill him.” 

He doesn’t know why it’s important to him that Wade believe that, but it is.

“I can’t tell you what happened, but I swear I didn’t kill him.”

“I know you didn’t, Petey-pie.  My baby boy doesn’t kill people.  You’re Batman in a red and blue suit.”

Okay, that was confusing.

“Batman?”

“Christian Bale, baby!  Didn’t you ever see _Batman Begins_?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but before Peter can get a word out, Wade rushes on with, “Oh, what am I saying? Of course you **wouldn’t** have seen it!  No DC in the MCU!”

And he was completely lost again.

“Anyhoo, I know you didn’t kill him.  You just dodged.  And as for your friend, Flash…..”

Wade trailed off and Peter stared, then asked, “What about Flash?”

“He was military, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“U.S.?”

“Yeah.  Army.  He doesn’t talk about it much.”

“He wouldn’t.  But that’s why he wasn’t scared. He gets it.  He’s lived it.  Not like we have, but he’s lived it.”

Peter nodded.  There was nothing he could say to that.

“But your Aunt is whole other fettle o’ kish, Petey.  She could be a frail, wispy, white-haired old pussy – like Miss Marple.  Or she could be a slim but sturdy middle-aged lady with black hair starting to turn grey – like Tuppence Beresford.”

“Huh?”

Wade waved a hand airily.  “Agatha Christie references. The author, she’s got eclectic tastes. Although,” He paused, clearly thinking something through, before continuing with, “I’m pretty sure they happen in another story, too.

“Um?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby boy.  You’ll do your head in tryin’ to figure out what me and the boxes are doing in ours.”

That may or may not be true, but Peter suspected it’d be a lot of fun finding out either way.  He did love puzzles.

He leaned into Wade’s side, trying to reassure him. 

“My Aunt is a nurse.  She’s gentle and caring and she doesn’t judge.  I promise – you have nothing to worry about.”

He felt the tension ease a little, and carefully grasped Wade’s hand, squeezing a little and trying for wordless reassurance.

\-----

[This isn’t going to end well.]

<No shit, Sherlock.>

He knew the boxes were right.  They usually were.  He was fucked-up, in all the ways a person can be fucked-up, and there just wasn’t any getting around that little factoid.

But Petey had said his aunt was a nurse.  And if she was a nurse in New York, she’d probably seen some fucked-up shit, so maybe things would be okay?

[Just keep the mask on.] 

Well, duh, that was what he’d been planning on, anyway. No need to give the poor woman nightmares or something. 

“Hey,” Peter nudged him.  “I can hear you thinking.  Stop it.  Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything you like.”

“Okay.”  He took a deep a breath and then launched into a detailed description of his last mission – the one where he’d offed the dictator.

“…and then douchecanoe tried to call for security, but I put my sword between his legs and all he could do was squeak.  It sounded like a mouse on helium.  I was gonna, you know, just cut him in half, but even Japanese craftsmanship won’t let you do that with a katana – too many bones, ya know?”

Peter nodded, the look on his face part amused and part horrified.

“So I just sorta sliced through his groin, and he screamed then.  Like, really **screamed**.  I wasn’t sure if it was pain, or if he was having an orgasm.”

Peter looked a little disbelieving at that, so Wade hastened to reassure him, “Well, he liked to do those kinds of things to other people, so I thought it might be his kink, y’know?”

Peter nodded.

“And I ain’t down with the kink-shaming.  But he screamed so much his security finally cottoned on to what I was about and came rushing in, so I had to maim all of them and - “

“You just maimed them?  That’s **all** you did?”

“Well, I wasn’t being **paid** to kill **them** , Petey-pie!”

Did Peter think he had no professional ethics?

[Well, we don’t. Do we?]

<We kinda do!  Sometimes.  Maybe?>

“Okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, before that rude interruption-“

That got a wide smile out of Petey, who held up his hand in a placating gesture and said, “My apologies, Wade. Please continue.”

“Apology accepted. So, I maimed all the security guys. The usual, you know?  Stab wounds and the like and then, by the time I got back to the douchecanoe dictator, he’d died from blood loss!”

“Was that bad?”

<Hell no!  That’s a really nasty way to die.  We done good!>

“Nope. I get paid for un-aliving people. Unless they tell me, you know, specifics, **how** they get un-alive is up to me.”

“Then why do you sound like you’re mad about it?”

[Yes, why?]

“I don’t know, Petey.  I **am** crazy, though, so maybe I don’t need no stinking reason.”

Before Peter can reply, the train slows, comes to a stop, and he jumps up and says, “This is us!” He grabs Wade’s hand and pulls him towards the car doors.

 “Come on!”

The butterflies that had been temporarily trapped whilst he was talking to his Spidey promptly escape starting flapping around in his tummy, clearly desperate for a chance to escape.

The little buggers can stay there.

Spidey’s hand is warm and his grip is strong and, hoo boy, those pesky butterflies are flapping around twice as fast now!

They head up the stairs and out of the station.  The sun is starting to set and the air is cool and Peter **still** hasn’t let go of his hand. He half walks, half stumbles, along the streets for around 10 minutes, before they arrive at a neat little house.

It’s dark grey stone and light grey weatherboard, with a bay window and a set of red brick steps that lead up to a wooden front door painted a dark grey-green and inset with four small windows at the top.

Peter, of course, has a key, and Wade grips a little tighter as his baby boy pushes open the door and calls out, “Aunt May!  We’re here!”

The front door opens right onto the living room and you can straight through it to the kitchen, where a woman is standing with her back to them.

She turns and Wade can see the grey streaks that run through her long dark hair. He’d guess she’s in her late fifties, judging by the lines around her mouth and eyes, and she looks….kind.  She smiles at Petey, and it actually goes to her eyes.   She’s happy to see him.

<She’s a hot MILF!>

‘Shut the fuck up, Yellow,’ Wade snarls to the voice in his head. ‘No disrespecting Petey’s Aunt.’

He can feel Yellow sulking, but gives no shits.  This is Petey’s **Aunt**.  Petey brought his home to introduce him to his **family**.  That’s, like, a huge thing, dating-wise, if the vague memories Wade has of dating can be relied upon at all.

He’s so engrossed in the thought that they’re actually dating, that he nearly misses it when Peter says, “Hey, Aunt May, I hope it’s okay I brought a friend. He arrived just as I was leaving to visit.”

“You know your friends are always welcome, Peter.  We’ve got plenty of food – I’m making spaghetti and meatballs.”

Peter smiles and says, “Thanks, Aunt May.  This is my friend, Wade.”

Wade expects her to freak out about the mask, but she just holds out her hand and says, “Nice to meet you, Wade.”

He shakes her hand and tries to talk, but all that comes out is, “Uhhh.”

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

He makes a split-second decision, drops her hand rolls his mask up so the tip of his nose is poking out, and answers, “Yes, thank you.  Nice to meet you too, Peter’s Aunt.”

She laughs and says, “You can just call me Mrs. Parker, dear, if you’re not comfortable with calling me Aunt May.”

She’s so awesome!

“I’ve never met an Aunt before.  Are all Aunts as bitchin’ as you?”

“Wade!”

“What?!  Seriously, Petey-pie, your Aunt is at epic levels of awesome!  She’s looking at half my ugly mug and, not only is not puking, she’s still smiling!  At me!  Ooh, ooh, and she hasn’t booted me out of the house yet!”

Mrs. Parker laughs again, and says, “It’s okay, Peter.  Your friend is a dear.  Now, will you please set the table?   Wade, you stay here and help me with dinner.

Helping with dinner turns out to be getting garlic bread out of the oven, grating parmesan cheese into a bowl, and then carrying heaping bowls of spaghetti piled high with meatballs to the dining table. 

There’s a bottle of red wine and actual wine glasses and they eat and talk and drink and he tries to be on his best behaviour.

<You’re so whipped!>

[And that’s a bad thing…why?]

<Did I say it was?  I never said it was.  Never.>

[You implied it.]

<Didn’t say it, though. Nyah, nyah!>

[You’re such a child.]

<I know I am, but what are you?>

[Rational, intelligent, logical and calm.]

<Yeah? Well, I know voices with none of that and they’re worth ten of you!>

“Oh, great, we’re reduced to mangled Captain America quotes? Seriously? Shut the fuck up, you two!”

He hadn’t meant to yell, but sometimes those two just drove him even more crazy than he already was.

Peter was looking at his Aunt May, and she was looking at him.  To his surprise, there was absolutely no judgement in the look – just curiosity.

“Sorry, Mrs. Parker. They were arguing, and it was getting too much.”

“Who was arguing?”

“The boxes. My boxes.”

“Do they argue a lot?”

Wade shrugs.  “Eh, sometimes. Yellow thinks I’m whipped, ‘cause I’m on my best behaviour so’s I don’t embarrass Petey too much, and White says that’s not a bad thing.”

Mrs. Parker looks like she’s thinking that over, and then she says, “I agree with White.”

[Ha!]

Yellow sulks and Wade’s happy, because at least that means they’ll be quiet for a while.

“Tell me, Wade, how did you meet my Peter?”

“Oh, well, he kind of saved my life.”

“Did he?  Really?  How?”

“He picked up my corpse and took it to my place and waited until I’d healed and then we had pancakes.”

Peter choked on his spaghetti at the same time Mrs. Parker did the same thing on a sip of wine.  Wade didn’t know who he should thump on the back first. 

He went for Petey.

[Of course.]

“In and out, baby boy, in and out,” he soothed as Peter gasped for breath.

Mrs. Parker picked up her napkin and wiped her mouth and the carefully dabbed at the spots of wine on her shirt.

[That’s gonna be a bitch to get out.]

In between wheezes, Peter managed to get out, “Wade, help me up.”

He didn’t know what to make of it, but he helped Peter up and followed his directions to a small bathroom where, with some vague hand waving, Spidey managed to indicate he wanted a glass of water.

“Couldn’t we have gotten one from the kitchen, Spidey?”

Peter took a big gulp of the water, breathed in harshly and said, “Yes, Wade, we could have, but we need to talk and I don’t want Aunty May hearing us.”

“Oooh, super secrets between super friends!  Tell me, Petey, tell me!”

Peter smiled a little at that, which was good.  He didn’t like his baby boy to be sad.

“Aunt May doesn’t know I’m Spider-Man, Wade, and I need it to stay that way.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”  Peter seemed surprised.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Huh.”

“Yup!”

“Okay, then.  Let’s get back to the table.”

Petey was still a little wobbly, so he hung onto Wade a wee little bit as they made their way to the dining table.

Dinner resumed and everyone was back to eating yummy, if now slightly cold, spaghetti, when Mrs. Parker tempted fate again and asked, “If Peter picked up your corpse, how exactly are you walking around now, Wade?”

“Uhhh.”

“It’s okay, Wade.  Aunt May’s a nurse. She’s interested in healing factors.”

“Oh!  Okay, well, see, there was this super-duper secret government program called Weapon X and, when I got cancer in my liver, lungs, prostate and brain, this creep, no really, he was a creep – looked like a paedophile – came to see me and gave me his card and invited me to join.

They were all, like, we can cure your cancer! We’re going to make you a superhero!  It sounded like a Shake Weighty infomercial, and I was not going to do it, but my girl was gonna drag me all over the world if I didn’t, so I said yes.

Mucho grande mistako, mi amigos.  They gave me some weird injection and then tortured me until I mutated.  Ii burnt the place down, got out, but the main dude in charge, some uber British villain-type called Ajax, he kidnaps my girl and gives her the injection.  Then he tries to kill her, so now she’s a mutant.

I shot Ajax in the head and we had our happily ever after, and I totally blasted Wham! at her just like I promised, but things didn’t go so well with her mutation and we drifted apart and now here I am.”

“Alright.  And how did you end up a corpse.”

“Well, there’s not many regular jobs for whackos with a healing factor that’ve been driven cloud cuckoo land crazy by torture, so I kinda kill people for money. Lots of money, though, lots and lots of money, and I whacked this one guy and his bodyguards chased me down into an alleyway and one of them shot me in the head.”

“And Peter rescued you?’

“I dunno.  I was dead.  I just woke up on my bed and Peter was there, so I made him pancakes.  I put on my best apron, too!”

“Peter?” 

[The looks she’s giving our poor Spidey doesn’t bode well.]

“Oh, well, I was taking some photos for the _Bugle_ and I saw these guys strung up in alley.  It was Spider-Man’s work, obviously, and you know how Jameson loves pictures of anything involving Spider-Man, so I went to take some close-up shots and I saw a body on the ground.

I saw the insignia on Wade’s belt and I knew who he was straight away, because Jameson likes to scream about him being a filthy criminal too.”

“Too?”

“Yeah, like how he likes to yell and rant about Spider-Man being a public menace.”

“I see.”

“Well, I searched his pockets to see if I could find any info about what to do with a dead Deadpool and I found some business cards, so I reversed traced the phone number on the cards and found his house and just took him there.

It didn’t really seem right to just leave him alone, though, so I stayed, and I must have fallen asleep.  Next thing I know – pancakes.”

“That was nice of you.  I’m glad to see I raised you right, Peter.”

“Petey’s the best, Mrs. Parker!”

[Don’t lay it on too thick,] White warned, whilst Yellow pulled faces and sulked some more.

“Well, we seem to have finished dinner.  Who’d like some chocolate cheesecake for dessert?”

The answer to that seemed to be an emphatic ‘yes’ from all parties, so Wade sat quietly whilst Peter and Mrs. Parker cleared the table and loaded up the dishwasher.

[It’s all so **domestic** ,] White practically spat out.

<Never mind that – have you figured it out yet?>

[Figured out what?]

<And you’re supposed to be the smart one!> Yellow scoffed.  <Peter’s last name is Parker.>

Well, duh.

<Peter Parker? Who works for the _Daily Bugle_?  Who takes all those photos of Spider-Man? >

Holy shitballs.

<Dude, he makes a living selling selfies!>

Aw, man!

[What’s wrong?]

I could’ve got camera-shaped chocolates instead of web-shaped ones!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of my pre-written chapters so, even though I will try to maintain this uploading schedule, it may take a few extra days to get them finished. These still aren't beta-ed, so you fill boo-boos. Thank you for putting up with them!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has left comments and/or kudos. I'm so pleased you like this story, and I will do my best to make it worth the wait!


	5. This Wooing Isn’t Going So Well (Let’s Try Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade has a date with Peter!
> 
> Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. I will get around to editing this properly, but only after I've finished writing it all.

“Let’s go see a movie!”

“Pardon?”

“C’mon, Petey-pie, you get time off, don’t cha?  Let’s go see a movie!”

Wade was bouncing up and down on the ledge, in danger of falling 25 stories and kill- oh, yeah, he wasn’t really in any danger of that at all, was he?  Why did Peter always forget that?

“What did you want to see?”

“Uh…”

“You don’t actually know what’s on, do you?”

Undeterred by Peter’s amusement, Wade reached into one of his many pouches and pulled out a smartphone.  It didn’t look like any smartphone Peter had seen before.

“What brand is that?” he asked, pointing to the device in question.

“Starkphone, baby.  Best in the world.”

“Where did you get a Starkphone?  I’ve never seen one like that before – is a new model?”

“Mr. Stark gave it to me!”

“Mr. Stark? **Tony** Stark?  Tony Stark just **gave** you a new phone?”

If he sounded like he didn’t believe a word of it, it was because he really didn’t.

“Sure!”

“Uh, why?  And how do you know Tony Stark?”

“Oh, sometimes the Avengers turn up when we’re on a job and that do-gooder with the star-spangled butt tries to stop me, but Mr. Stark always tells him to leave me alone.  He says if I’m busy un-aliving people, at least I’m not annoying him!” 

He lowered his voice, leaned in a bit closer, and whispered to Peter, “He’s got the most incredible bubble butt.  We think he must work out to have something that fine.”

Wade paused, then said, “Oh, it’s not as cute as yours though, Spidey!” as if to reassure Peter of his devotion to his Peter’s rear end.

“Good to know,” Peter said, drily.  “That still doesn’t explain the phone, though.”

“He gave it to me after Captain Star-Spangled tried to stop killing me that dictator – remember we told you all about it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, he just kinda chucked it to me, and told me he’d call, and we could co-ordinate next time.  I get texts sometimes.”

“Texts?”

“From his A.I.  She’s a lovely lady.  We like her.  She does updates for us.”

“Ah.”  Well, what else could he say?

“Would you like it?”

“What?”

Something on his face must’ve given him away, because Deadpool giggled and said, “No, not that, Spidey!  Although we’ll definitely give you that – if you want it.  We mean, do you want the phone?”

“Yes…”

Wade practically shoves the phone at him, grinning delightedly.

“But no,” Peter shoves the phone right back, sort of hating that the grin falls off the merc’s face at his words.

“Petey-pie,” Wade begins, but Peter interrupts.

“It’s your phone, Wade, and Mr. Stark wanted you to have it for a reason - an important one, probably. You need to keep it.  I would love to have It, I really would – I have serious phone envy right now – but I can’t take it.”

“Okey-dokey, Spideykins!”

The grin returns in full force, and Peter’s stomach does a few flip-flops at the sight, before he smiles right back.

Then he notices the red substance on his gloves and makes a face.

“Wade!  How much salsa did you put on your tacos?”

He brings his gloved hand up to his mouth and briefly sucks the sauce off, leaving a faint red stain.  It’s barely visible against the red of the glove, but it still means he’s going to have to use extra stain remover the next time he washes his suit.

“Gahhhh!”

“Are you okay?”

“Inappropriate boner!  Inappropriate boner! Inappropriate boner!”  

At least, that’s what Peter **thinks** he’s chanting.  He’s rolled his mask back down over his mouth, and then clapped both of his hands over that (dropping the phone into his lap in the process), so it’s pretty muffled.

Deciding a change of subject might just calm things down, Peter asks, “Have you figured out what movie you want to see?”

He reaches over and picks up the phone and Wade, who had loosened his hands from over his mouth, immediately clamps them back, so tight Peter can see the knuckles of his hands popping, and starts chanting again.

Sighing, Peter flicks through the apps until he finds the right one and then brings up a list of movies.  He leans over and holds the phone up to Wade’s face.

“Pick one, Wade.”

“Hmmm.”

Wade strokes his chin with his thumb and forefinger whilst he peruses the list of movies and session times.

Peter thinks its kind of adorable.  He can’t tell if Wade does these kinds of things without thinking about it, or if he has some kind of internal plan of craziness that he’s following.

He doesn’t really mind, either way, so it’s all good – and all adorable.

He really **should** probably stop thinking about Wade in terms of adorable – he’s not entirely sure it would be appreciated by the mercenary.

Except…. there are times, times, when it **fits**.  It fits. 

And this is one of those times.

“Figured it out yet?”

“Patience, baby boy, patience. It’s a virtue – or so I’ve been told.”

“Me too.  I don’t believe it for a second, though.”

“Me neither!”

“Besides, people always leave off the rest of that saying. It’s like the second verse of a national anthem – nobody ever sings it.”

“Is there a second verse to the Canadian national anthem?”

“Uh. Probably?  I don’t know, Wade.  You could just look it up.  You’ve got a Starkphone – I bet it’s got google.”

“Oh, yeah!”

Wade’s fingers flew over the screen as he sang, “O Canada!” repeatedly.  No, not the whole song, just the first line. “O, Canada!”

“Hey, is Wikipedia reliable, Petey-pie?”

“I guess so.  For most stuff, anyway.”

“There’s four verses to the Canadian national anthem!  Four!  And it says that nobody ever sings the other three!  Hah!”

Wade paused a second, then added, “There’s a French version!  Ooh, la, la, mon petit Spidey.”

 Peter face-palmed and wondered how they’d gotten from picking a movie to go see to him being complimented?  **Possibly** complimented? Was being called a small Spidey a compliment?  In French.

“Oui, je suis un peu Spidey. Votre Spidey, mon amour.”

 -----

[Inappropriate boner!]

<Oh, hella, no!  This boner is all kinds of appropriate, baby!  Just imagine Spidey saying stuff in French before sucking on our - >

[Inappropriate boner!]

< \- the way he was sucking that salsa off his thumb.>

Wade gritted his teeth, trying to ignore both his boxes and his highly inappropriate boner, and pick a movie to watch.

He shut down the search app and tried to stop humming ‘O Canada’ (the whole song, this time) whilst he went back to browsing the movie listings.

Ah-ha!  Perfect!

“Ooh, ooh, this one!  We gotta go see this one, baby boy!”

[Don’t call him that. It’s creepy.]

<Why?>

[We want to get in his pants- ]

<And his heart, don’t forget his heart!>

[ -and his heart, and we’re calling him baby boy? And you don’t see how this is creepy?  Really?]

Yellow blew a raspberry.

Peter looked at the movie  

And grinned.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the one.”

<Woo-hoo!>

“Are we doing this today?”

Peter frowned, then looked at his watch and back at the session times.

“I’d like to, Wade, only I’m a bit busy today so…. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Hang on, I’ll ask White.  He keeps my schedule?  White, what’re we doing tomorrow?”

[The usual when we don’t have a job on – nothing.]

<Hey!  Watching _Golden Girls_ and binging on Doritos counts as something! >

[No, it doesn’t.]

Yellow blew another raspberry.

“Good news, Petey, White says we don’t have any jobs tomorrow.  Shall we pick you up?”

“Hmm?” Peter seemed a little distracted.  “Oh!  No, no, I’ll meet you at the cineplex. Is 10.30 tomorrow morning too early?”

“Nah.”

“I’ll br - “

Whatever Peter is about to say is cut off by a scream and, before he can say boo, Spide-Man Is rolling down his mask, getting to his feet, shooting out a web and is…. Gone.

He does take the time to wave goodbye as he goes, though, so Wade figures they’re all good.

He sits on the rooftop for another half-an-hour or so, lost in his thoughts.

[What thoughts?] White asks snidely.

Yellow pokes a tongue out at White. Since he’s only a voice in Wade’s head, it’s quite impressive.

We’re going okay, aren’t we?  Aren’t we?

There’s nothing but echoing silence from his boxes.  They pick the **worst** times to shut up, the mongrel bastards.  He could do with some reassurance, or at least a joke, to help with anxiety fluttering in his stomach.

A movie counted as a date, right?  Right? 

And that meant he had a date.  With Peter.  With **Spider-Man.**  

<I got chills, they’re multiplying. And I’m looooosing control-ol!>

[Just kill me now.]

<Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!>

[I’m going to kill **you,** you demented asshole, and then I’ll top myself.] 

<Ooh, I’m so scared.  Not.  I’m going slightly mad, I’m going slightly mad. It’s finally happened, happened. It’s finally happened.>

We aren’t **going** slightly anything, we’re already there!

It was one of his more rational thoughts, and if he hadn’t noticed the distinct vibe of White’s undertones to it, he would’ve thought it came from the pale box. 

Who knew he could be so introspective?  Or so honest with himself?

<Breakthrough!>

And…. Nope. 

Well, time to head for home.  He reached into another of his pouches and pulled out Weasel’s nifty little toy and, with the flick of a switch, was back in his bedroom.

We have a date with Peter, we have a date with Peter.  We have a **date** with **Peter.**

“Well, fuck – what am I going to wear?”

[ **That’s** what you’re worried about?]

<That nifty little black and red dress that makes our ass look edible.>

“That’s not a helpful suggestion at all, Yellow.  It’s only our first date – we gotta save the good stuff for at least the third date.  Them’s the rules.”

<Rules, schmules.  Wear the dress, wear the dress, wear the dress, wear the dr - >

Wade puts his hands over his ears and tried to block out the chanting.

[Oh, shut up.]

Thank god for White – sometimes.

[Hey!]

Wade opens his wardrobe and starts rummaging through his now rather bigger collection of clothes. He dismisses the suit, because he still doesn’t have suspenders, and a suit like that needs suspenders. And a fedora.

[Why are you worrying about this now, anyway?  The movie’s not till tomorrow!]

<The sun’ll come out tomorrow, so you gotta hang on ‘til tomorrow, come what may!>

It should be impossible for a voice in your head to head-desk but, somehow, White managed it.

[If Yellow can manage tongue poking, I can sure as hell manage a head-desk.]

“I’m not singing show tunes, Yellow!  Not unless it’s something from _The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas_ , because Dolly.”

[Look, I’m only a voice in your head, so you can ignore me but here’s my advice: get some beauty sleep and deal with this shit in the morning.]

<Beauty sleep? Beauty sleep?  He’d need to sleep for a thousand years!>

Somehow, in his head, White bitch-slapped Yellow and they both shut up.  Deciding to get while the getting’s good, Wade shucked his ass-hugging spandex and crawled, nekkid as a jaybird, into his nice bed with its orthopaedic mattress and lovely soft cotton sheets and fell asleep.

He had wonderful, happy and sweet dreams….

…. Until Yellow started in with the singing again.

The utter bastard.

\-----

“C’mon,” Peter said as he pulled his companion along, “We’re going to be late!”

“Peter,” his companion replied, “You’re **always** late.  For everything.  You’ll be late for your own funeral.”

“Probably,” his tone was dismissive, “I really don’t want to be late today, though.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, Peter.”

“Maybe I should just suit and web-swing us there?”

“NO!  You are not swinging me around New York in this outfit.”

They dodged pedestrians, dashed over roads and generally bounced around all the obstacles that New York City streets had to offer, finally arriving at the cineplex. 

They went in and Peter looked around for Wade, finally spotting him lurking by a pillar, half in shadow.  He was dressed in black jeans and red hoodie, with the hood pulled up and his face lowered.

He wasn’t wearing his mask, and Peter knew how he felt about people seeing his face, so he pulled on his companion’s hand again and moved over to the merc, still a little out of breath.

“Hey, Wade,” he said, stopping a few feet away from the man, “Sorry we’re a little late. I did try to be on time, I promise.”

“Hey, Petey, I – “

The words seemed die on his lips when he saw who was holding Peter’s hand.

Peter noticed and then started, like he’d forgotten she was there, for a moment.

Be honest, his inner voice whispered.  For a moment, you did.  You were too busy admiring Wade in that hoodie.

“Oh, Wade, I brought a friend along.  She couldn’t make my little party the other, but she wanted to meet you.”

He dragged her forward slightly, then dropped her hand to gesture between them.  “Wade Wilson, this is Gwen Stacy, one of my very best friends.  Gwen, this Wade, another of my very best friends.”

“You have a lot of very best friends, Pete,” Gwen giggled, before she held out a hand.  “Hello, Wade, it’s nice to meet you.  Peter’s told me all about you.”

“All bad things I hope,” Wade said, taking her hand and bending over it, the same way he’d with MJ.  “Nice to meet you, my lady Gwen.”

“Wade!”

“What?”

The innocent look was fooling no-one.  No-one at all.

“The only things I’ve told Gwen about you have all been good.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Gwen confirms.  “He told me you’re a pancake god, that you have a nice singing voice and that you took care of him when he had the flu.  All good things.”

Peter swears he can see colour on Wade’s cheeks – he honestly didn’t think the man was capable of blushing, but there it was.

“Well, shall we get our tickets?  I’ve been wanting to see this movie for a while.”

“Sure, Pete!” Gwen tucks her arm around Peter’s then holds out other arm and Wade steps forward.  She clearly shocks Wade by tucking her arm into his and, thus entrapped by Gwen Stacy, they move to the box office, and thence into the cinema.

“Come on, let’s go up to the back – we can throw popcorn at people who talk during the movie.”

“I like this girl, Petey-pie.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The ads were boring and only some of the previews peaked his interest, but Peter perked up a little when the movie started. 

It was full of plot holes, it was cheesy, it was fun.  It was everything a great b-grade horror/action movie should be.  It was immensely enjoyable.

Also, Jason Statham was hot.

Or so Gwen whispered in his ear during the scene where he was wandering around his room on the sea base in nothing but a towel.

Wade, sitting on his other side, whispered something else entirely.  Something that made Peter squirm and pull his popcorn box closer to cover his lap more.

“Don’t worry, Petey,” he continued, still whispering sibilantly into Peter’s shell-like, “I’d let you do that to me too.”

There was a significant pause, and then: “I’d also let you do a few other things to me – wanna hear about them?”

Peter really, really didn’t.

Except, if he was being honest with himself, he really, really **, really** did.

The only reply he could get out was a strangled sort of cough, as his cheeks flushed and he tried to concentrate on the movie.

Wade seemed to take the strangled cough as a ‘yes’ and proceeded to describe, in detail, a whole bunch of what were, frankly, **pornographic** scenarios.  There were mentions of ropes, handcuffs, blindfolds, strap-ons, vibrators, cock rings, flavoured lube, glow-in-the-dark condoms, fake moustaches and pigtails.

Peter could feel his face getting redder and redder and he was fighting with urge to laugh, or orgasm, or possibly both, because Wade’s descriptions were both unbelievably arousing, yet completely ridiculous.

Inappropriate boner!

Then Gwen reached over to grab some of his popcorn and Peter came back to reality with a sharp jolt.

He was not letting Gwen’s hand anywhere near his boner, appropriate or otherwise, so he just handed her the tub, picked up his drink and plonked it straight down on his lap.

Ice, ice, baby.

Works every time.


	6. What Are We Gonna Do Now, Man? (What the Fuck Are We Gonna Do?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're off to dinner, but Wade's got one idea about what that entails, and Peter has quite another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such trouble with this chapter. I was literally in tears trying to figure out how to get it to go where I wanted it to and I didn't want to disappoint anyone by not uploading on schedule. So, it's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid. If I keep fiddling with it, though, I don't think I'll get much done. Stick a fork in it and call it cooked!

Wade gritted his teeth and wondered the same thing.  He’d had a date.  Or, at least, he’d thought it was a date, with Petey-pie, and it turned out wrong.

Again!

Was he being too subtle?  He didn’t think so. 

I mean, flowers and chocolates and a movie – that was what you did when you were wooing someone, right?  Old school wooing, that right there.

He was happy that Petey had wanted to introduce him to Gwen, because she was clearly amazeballs.  No doubt about that. 

 **And** she’d cornered him after the movie, whilst Petey was in the little spider’s room, and given him the shovel talk.

Well, more like the murder/shotgun talk.

“Wade, just a quick word, in case you’re thinking of breaking my Peter’s heart: my Dad is a Captain in the NYPD. I know how to use a shotgun.  I also know how to kill you and leave no forensics, bury your body where no-one will ever find it, and smile so innocently that no-one will even **suspect** me, let alone charge me with your murder.  Do we understand each other?”

Really, she was the perfect woman.  Why wasn’t Petey dating **her**? 

[Why would you even **ask** that?]

Because it’s a legitimate question.  She’s so amazeballs, I’d happily date her.  If, y’know, I wasn’t already ass-over-tits for Petey-pie.

[You didn’t actually listen when Petey was talking ‘bout her, didja?]

No…?

White sighed. [She works in England, dumb ass.  They dated in high school, but they both knew the long-distance thing wasn’t going to work.]

<Go-od save the queen!>

[Yellow, if you keep singing the fucking song, I’m going to kick you out of this head and be happy about it.]

<Shan’t!  And you can’t!  Ooh, that rhymes – I’m a poet, and I didn’t even know it!>

Wade could feel White gearing up for a fight, and it was not going to be pretty, and he wanted to actually get some sleep at some point so he interrupted.

“Enough, you two buggers.  White, Yellow is allowed to sing.”

Wade knew, he just knew, Yellow was about start poking tongues and bragging on it, so he continued, “Yellow, you aren’t allowed to sing the British National Anthem unless you can do it like my boy Johnny Rotten.  Capische?”

Yellow just muttered unintelligibly.

Thank fuck for small miracles.

“So, like the title of the chapter says, what are we gonna do now?”

[We’ll have to go all-out.  It’s time for - ]

<dun-dun-DUN!>

[Dinner, and the - ]

<dun-da-dun!>

[The Dress.]

“Why the capital letter?”

[Because, to us, it always THE dress. You will seldom hear us mention it any other way. It eclipses and predominates every other article of clothing we own. It is the sexiest and most daring little black dress of its kind.]

“That’s unnecessarily dramatic.”

[There is **no such thing as unnecessary drama**.]

<Something we agree on!  Yay!>

“Hooray,” Wade cheered wearily.  He really was knackered.  After the movie they’d gone for lunch at a café.  Gwen had missed their something-or-other dish that she couldn’t get anywhere else, and he’d had more people staring than he liked to deal with at one time.

His fingers itched to pull out his guns (carefully hidden!) but that would’ve upset Petey.  Failing that, his boxes wanted to go all Lenny Bruce on the indiscreet assholes, but that would’ve upset Gwen – and she had a shotgun. 

<So awesome!>

So he’d bitten his tongue (thank whatever deity that might be watching over him for his healing factor, because that shit **hurt** ) and concentrated on his food. It wasn’t tacos, or burritos, but it was nice and he tried to appreciate it, even through all the ableist fuckers and their gawping.

Gwen, Peter and he had great conversation, though. He asked Gwen about her life in jolly ol’ London, and she asked him about the mercenary business.  Peter tried to shut that conversation down, but she’d ignored him completely, which was mind-blowing because she was ignoring Petey to talk to them!

He’d introduced the boxes, briefly, so as not to scare her too much when it looked like he was talking to himself, or an invisible friend, and she’d been completely chill about the whole thing.  Oddly.

Still, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?  He’d now met all Petey’s friends, they all mostly liked him and didn’t seem to mind his boxes, and he’d been given the shotgun talk!  That was pretty much the finest seal of approval you could have!

After lunch, they’d walked Gwen back to her hotel room and she’d invited them up for a drink.  Alcohol pretty much had no effect on him, or on Petey as far as he knew, but they both went anyway. Yellow had suggested she was after a threesome. Highly doubtful, especially as Wade wasn’t into that.  Yellow was a dick.

In the end, they’d spent the afternoon nursing drinks and talking.

There was a hell of a lot talking.  Even for the Merc with the Mouth, there was a **lot** of talking.

Gwen kicked them out when it got too late.  She had an early flight, she said, and needed her sleep.

So he and Petey had found their way to a rooftop, like they always did, and sat on the edge, legs swinging over the side (like they always did), and talked some more.

“Gwen is awesome, Petey-pie.  Why aren’t you dating her?”

[We’ve been over this already.]

“Shhh, White, I want to hear it from Petey’s lips.”

[You already did, or else I wouldn’t know.  Dumbass.]

“I know, but I was so nervous I wasn’t listening.  Give me a break – it’s not often I get to go to the movies with two gorgeous people!”

“Uh,” Peter seemed a little flustered.  “Well.  We did date for a while, after I got my powers.  Not that we started dating **because** of that, but it kind of happened all around the same time, you know?  We were together basically until she left for England.  She got a scholarship and she went to Oxford to study molecular medicine.”

“Aw, baby-boy, she broked your heart!”

<Now we gotta kill her!>

[Yeah, let’s do that.]

“Only for a little while.  It was always going to end, eventually, and how could I stand in the way of her achieving her dreams?  I mean, I was upset, but not in a sad way.  More of a…bittersweet?  Yeah, a bittersweet sort of way.  She was my first love, and I was hers, but we both knew it wasn’t going to be a forever thing.  Not the age we were at the time, anyway.”

Wade reached up and dabbed a tear from his eye with a handkerchief. 

“That’s so sad, baby-boy.”

Peter shrugged and continued, “I met Mary Jane when I was in college, and that was wonderful – for a while.  Then there was Felicia.  That was just a disaster.  I didn’t mind the cat burglar thing, really, I just didn’t like getting dragged out of bed at all hours of the night.  The police were either storming her apartment, warrant in hand, or arresting her.  It was bonkers.”

“So am I, Petey.”

Peter smiled, “I know, Wade.  You’re a different kind of bonkers, though.  A better kind, I think, sometimes.”

[He’s so sweet.] White drew out the ‘e’ making a longer sound.

<We gotta kill all these bitches for breaking his heart.>

“No, we don’t.  That would be very bad.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, sorry, Petey,” Wade was chagrined (fancy words, fancy words!).  “Yellow wants to kill all your exes for breaking your pure heart.  I told him no.”

Peter grinned.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Yellow, I do. Please don’t though.  It would be really be very bad. I’d get upset with Wade, and I don’t want to get upset with Wade.  We wouldn’t be able to eat tacos together if that happened.”

<No! Tacos!> Yellow drew out the ‘o’ sound. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was being outdone by White.

“We don’t want you upset with us either, baby-boy.”

Slowly, carefully and, obviously hesitant, Peter leaned over and laid his head on Wade’s shoulder.

“You’re always so warm,” he muttered.

Just as carefully, Wade lifted his arm and cuddled his Spidey close.

“Hey, Petey?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s do dinner – tomorrow night.”

He felt, rather than saw, Peter smile.

“Sure, Wade.  We can do that.  Should I pick you up, or do you want to just meet somewhere?”

“You can pick me up, Spidey.  I’d like that.  You can pick the place, too.”

“’kay.  Is seven pm alright with you?”

“It should be.  I’ll have White check my schedule.  Hey, White, we’re not on a job tomorrow night, are we?”

White mimed licking his fingers and flicking through the pages of a book.

[Hmm.  No, no I don’t believe so.  We are having a few weeks of vacation time, sir.  Rest and relaxation, as it were.]

Wade rolled his eyes, but said, “No, Petey, we don’t have anything planned for tomorrow. White says we’re on holiday.”

“Goody,” said Peter, and snuggled in some more.  So warm.

“Seven o’clock tomorrow night it is, then. I’ll be waiting.”

There didn’t seem to be any need for conversation after that.  Yellow and White chatted away in his head, and Wade was content to listen to them bicker and just enjoy cuddling with Petey-pie. 

Which bought him right back to the here and now, and The Dress.  He carefully unhooked from the hanger and looked it over.  It was the one he’d gotten from the thrift shop of clichés and he really did love the red panels down the side. 

He reached into one of the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe, and fished around until he came up with a black lace set that wasn’t too worn. 

After a bit more rummaging, he found some black stockings and a garter belt.

What?  He was going to **dinner** with **Petey.**   This was a big deal.  He needed to look right.   And you couldn’t just wear boxers under a dress like this.  It needed to be respected. 

He carefully laid the items out over a chair, ready for the next day, then stripped off his jeans and hoodie and climbed, bare butt naked, into bed.  He was emotionally exhausted and need to sleep for 15 hours at least to look his best for Petey tomorrow night.

[We’ll do our best.]

<Sleep, baby, sleep, while we dream of Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater.>

\-----

Peter was fussing in his closet, too. He was freelance photographer with a superhero alter-ego and, as such, most of his budget went on rent and food.  There wasn’t much left over for clothes. 

And what there was went on keeping his Spidey suit up to scratch.

This was dinner, though.  He’d need something a little better, even if they were probably just going to Taco Bell or Chipotle.  He was picking Wade up, too, so this made it kind-of-a-date, right?

No, probably not.

He just had to stop with this.  He wasn’t sure if he even interested in Wade in a relationship kind of way, let alone if Wade was interested in **him**.

Bu-ut, either way, he still had to dress nice, right? Right?

Oh, hell.

He picked up his phone, called M.J. and tried not to sound too panicked when she answered.

“Even if it’s not a date-date, I should still dress nice for dinner – right?”

“Yes, Peter, you should.  Wait, **have** you got a date?”

“No,” he hesitated.  “I don’t **think** so.”

“I’m having dinner with Wade.”

“Oh, Petey.” M.J.’s sigh was one of the more long-suffering he’d heard.

“We’re probably just going get take-out, but it’s still dinner.  I need to look nice, don’t I?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You absolutely do.  Have you still got that dark green shirt?”

“The one I wore to Thanksgiving at Aunt May’s last year?”

“That one.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Wear that, and your cleanest and nicest pair of jeans. And your dress shoes. That way you won’t be underdressed if you go to a nice restaurant or overdressed if you go to Burger King or something.”

“Thanks, M.J.  You’re an angel – I don’t know what I’d do without you!”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

“’Bye, M.J.!”

“Good luck, Peter.”

Right!  Luckily, with so little in the way of clothes, he didn’t have too much trouble finding the green shirt, and he’d just washed his black jeans a couple of days ago.  Black was always more formal, wasn’t it?

Speaking of which?  Where were those black shoes of his?  He remembered putting them back into their box, but where had the box ended up?

It wasn’t in the bottom of the wardrobe where it was supposed to be.  He looked rapidly around the room, trying to spot it. Not behind the door, not kicking around the base of the lamp, not hiding behind the curtains.  Maybe under the bed?

Peter did have vague memories of his last night out and coming home in a horrible mood. He’d taken off his shoes, bought just that day for just that occasion, putting them in the box and then kicking the box viciously out of sight, determined to forget about the them, the evening and the whole damn mess.

He ducked down and glanced under the bed.  There it was!  He lay down on the floor and reached under, grabbing the box and stirring up a whole lot of dust in the process.

Coughing, he pulled it out and dusted it off as best he could before lifting the lid. There they were! And still mostly shiny.  At least he wouldn’t have to polish the bloody things.

He sat down on the bed, pulled on his shoes and socks, then stood up and walked through the apartment to the bathroom.  Well, he thought, looking in the mirror above the sink, this is the best I can get on a photographer’s salary.  It’s going to have to do.

Okay, now how to get to Wade’s?  If he took the subway, he’d need to change lines a few times. Surface roads would be a nightmare and take too long.  And he couldn’t exactly web-sling in this get-up.  Spider-Man wore a mask for a reason, after all.

So, the scooter it was. Plus, Wade could sit on the back…. and hold onto Peter, perhaps around the waist…. which would be nice.

He took the lift down to the basement and went to his storage area.  The scooter was covered in a grey drop cloth, so he yanked it off, filling the air with dust and revealing that the cloth was actually blue.  Huh.

Oh, well.  The scooter was in great nick, so he chucked the drop cloth to one side and grabbed the handlebars.  The tyres seemed to be alright as he pushed it back towards the lift.  Up one floor and out the back door and he’d be away.

The night air was cool on his face as he weaved his way through the traffic, down alley ways and over bridges, making his way to Wade’s warehouse.

What was it with superheroes and alliteration anyway?  Wade Wilson, Peter Parker, Matthew Michael Murdock (that was even worse!), Reed Richards, Sue Storm, Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner, Jessica Jones, Kamala Khan.

And that wasn’t even getting into the villains. Victor Von Doom was pretty bad, but Otto Octavius? And Curt Connors?  You had to wonder what their parents had been thinking, really.

He’d been so deep in thought about the weirdness of names that he almost missed the front door of Wade’s warehouse.

And there we go again!

He pulled over, got off the scooter and walked over to the door.  It had been fitted with a button, presumably for a doorbell, since the last time he’d been here.  He pushed it.

“Workin’ nine to five, what a way to make a living, barely getting’ by – it’s all takin’ and no giving. You just use your mind, and they never give you credit. It’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it!”

Dolly Parton, Peter’s mind supplied, since the rest of him was dumbfounded.  Wade had installed a doorbell and, instead of pleasant chimes or tinny music, it was a snippet of a Dolly Parton song.

He couldn’t stop grinning.

At least….he couldn’t stop grinning, until the door opened – and the grin dropped right off his face.

Wade was….Wade was….were those….was that….uh, **what**?

“Hey, Petey-pie!”

It sounded like Wade, it was Wade’s baritone and cheeky inflection.  He just…. “Uh, nice dress?”

Wade grinned.

“Oh, thanks, Petey-pie!  White and Yellow thought dinner was an important enough occasion that we should wear it.  Do you really like it?”

Wade turned a full 360 degrees and Peter got an eyeful of the merc’s ass outlined in the clingy black material.  It was epic.

“Yeah. It looks….you look….incredible.”

And he really, really did.  The black and red dress came to just above Wade’s knees but, since his legs were encased in what looked like silk stockings, the hem blended in and made it look as if it was disappearing.  It was an effect, all right. 

Looking upwards, he saw Wade had managed to push his chest up enough to get some cleavage, and it was nicely shown off by the scoop neckline of the dress.  A necklace with some kind of black seashell pendant just drew your eye right to it.

Managing to look away, and further upwards, Wade had put on make-up – foundation, blood-red lipstick and black eyeshadow.  And a wig.  A blonde wig that somehow actually looked good.  It looked like tresses of hair were curling around his shoulders?  Her shoulders?  Hang on, which pronoun should he use now?

“Wade?”

“Yes, Petey?”

“Are you still a ‘he’?  I mean,” he gestured up and down, “in those clothes and the wig and the make-up and everything?”

“Petey!  Are you worried about mis-gendering me?  That’s so sweet!”

“No, it’s really not, Wade. It’s common courtesy. Aunt May would Gibbs-slap me if I didn’t ask.”

“Your Aunt is a treasure, Petey.  You are totes lucky.”

Peter smiled softly, fondly.

“I know, Wade.”

“To answer your question, ‘he’ and ‘him’ and ‘his’ is still fine.  I like to dress this way for really special occasions, but I don’t make a habit of it.”

“And you’re still wearing combat boots?”

“Of course, Petey.  Even on special occasions, one must have somewhere to keep one’s knives.”

“Knives?”

“Don’t worry, Petey.  It’s just in case. We don’t really feel properly dressed without knives.”

“Oh. Okay.  Well, shall we go then?”

Peter offered his arm, and Wade grinned gleefully and took it, slipping her hand through the crook.

“Are you going to be able to ride on the scooter in your dress?”

“Oh, sure, Petey.  I’ll just go side-saddle. It’s fine.”

“Okay, then.  On you go.”

He helped Wade perch on the scooter seat, facing sideway, and wasn’t disappointed when the merc shuffled as close as he could and wrapped his arms around Peter’s midsection.  So warm. How did Wade manage to generate so much heat, especially in the dress?

Peter looked down for a second to take off the kick stand and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of Wade’s legs.  Not pantyhose, then.  Actually stockings, held up with actual garters.

Gnnnnngh!

Concentrate, Pete. Concentrate, he told himself firmly.

“Ready,” he asked.

“Hit it, baby-boy!”

His scooter didn’t really have a lot of power, but he revved it as far as could go nonetheless, and they were off.

It wasn’t a very long ride to the restaurant, but Peter missed the warmth of Wade’s arms around him as soon as they got there and got off the little scooter.

Wade looked and the front of the place, and Peter could swear a small flicker of disappointment crossed the man’s face.

“Is this alright?  I mean, you like Mexican food, right?”

“Oh!  Yes, yes, this is fine.”

Peter could tell something had upset Wade, but he wasn’t sure what.  He knew _Chipotle_ wasn’t exactly a high-class establishment, but they were clean and decent, made good food and weren’t too expensive - his budget didn’t often stretch to steak and caviar.

It was pretty quiet inside, too, which made Peter breathe a little easier.

The person behind the counter didn’t even blink an eye at Wade while they placed their order and that was another thing Peter was grateful for.  It seemed this was a good choice, after all, even Wade seemed to be upset by something, judging by how unusually quiet he was.

They got their orders (Wade had gone all out for the tacos) and sat a table in a corner of the room, digging straight into the food.

Peter was so hungry.  Worrying over everything, plus his night job, always made him ravenous and he just needed calories as fast as possible.

Fighting the urge to just pick up his bowl of food and toss it down, he remembered what Aunt May would say about manners, and used a spoon.

When his stomach had stopped growling quite so loudly, he looked up and saw that Wade had only eaten one of his tacos.  Something wasn’t right, and Peter was an awful friend for ignoring it this long.

“Wade, are you okay?”

“Sure, Petey-pie. I’m just peachy keen.”

Yeah, something was **definitely** wrong. 

“You just seem a little upset.  Did I do something wrong? I did, didn’t I?  I opened my big mouth the wrong way and now you’re sad.  What did I do?  What did I say?  Whatever it was, I apologise whole-heartedly and without reservation.  I admit everything!”

Wade actually cracked a smile at Peter’s little verbal meltdown.

“I just feel a bit over-dressed, is all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  This isn’t what I pictured when I asked you to dinner.”

Bugger. Bugger, bugger and shit fuck.  Goddammit!

“I should’ve asked before we came here, I suppose, but…”

Peter trailed off and Wade looked at him, the question clear in his eyes.

“But?”

“Well, I did consider us going somewhere fancier only, well, you weren’t happy in the café yesterday, were you?  With all those assholes staring at you?”

“I didn’t think you noticed,” Wade said quietly.

“I didn’t want to ruin it for Gwen,” Peter explained.  “I don’t get to see her very often, and she liked you a lot and I wanted us to spend time together, but I could tell those ableist wankers were making you really uncomfortable, and a crowded restaurant would be even worse because those places are full of entitled rich people who think just because they have bags of money they can act however they want.  I mean, they probably wouldn’t have been flat-out rude to you, but they more than likely would’ve complained to the manager and we’d have been out the door before you could say escargot.”

Wade smiled at that and Peter could see the merc’s spirits lifting, even if just a little. 

“Did I do the wrong thing, Wade?”

“No, Petey-pie.  It was just right.”

  


 


	7. Wade and I Have Run Out of Chapter Titles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade attempts cheesy pick-up lines. 
> 
> It doesn't really go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! 
> 
> As usual, this isn't beta-read so I take full and complete responsibility for all mistakes - whatever they may be.
> 
> This chapter has a different format, so I hope that's not too confusing. It covers a few weeks where Wade just tries one way of wooing and our boys get to know each other a little better.

**_Day 1_ **

“Heya, baby-boy!  You’re looking so fine today!  Did you do something with your butt?”

“Wade!”

“What?”

 

**_Day 2_ **

“Heaven’s gotta be missing an angel, Petey-pie – you’re down here with me.  And that’s a miracle!”

“Wade!”

“Did I say something wrong?”

 

**_Day 3_ **

“If I say you got a lovely body, Spidey, will you hold it against me?”

“Wade!”

“It’s a classic!”

 

**_Day 4_ **

“Are you sure you’re not tired, darlin’?  You’ve been running through my mind all day.

“….”

“Aw, I took your breath away!”

 

**_Day 5_ **

“Did I come to the wrong place?  It sounds like we’re near the airport.”

“We’re nowhere near the airport, Wade.”

“Oh, you’re right – it’s just my heart taking off.”

 

**_Day 6_ **

“They say nothing lasts forever, Petey.  Will you be my nothing?”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

 

**_Day 7_ **

“Did the sun come out, or did you just smile at me?”

“It’s midnight, Wade.”

 

**_Day 8_ **

“Aside from being sexy, what do you for a living?”

“You know what I do for a living, Wade.”

 

**_Day 9_ **

“Did it hurt, Petey?”

“Did what hurt, Wade?”

“When you fell from heaven?”

 

**_Day 10_ **

“You’re a photographer, Petey-pie, can you picture you and me together?”

…. “Maybe.”

 

**_Day 11_ **

“Did you – “

[Dude, we gotta stop the cheesy pick-up lines!]

But we don’t know what else to do!  I mean, we tried chocolates.  We tried flowers. We tried going to the movies.  We even tried asking him to dinner!

Nothing’s working!

[I know, but he’s going to so sick of our lousy passes and then it’ll stop being funny and he’ll start ignoring us completely.]

<Nobody puts Wadey in a corner!>

[Oh, for crying in the sink!]

“Did I what, Wade?”

“Did you hear about what happened last week?”

<See!  Now he looks disappointed!  He was expecting a cheesy pick-up line!>

[What **did** happen last week?]

“No, what happened last week?  Is it interesting?”

“I broke my leg.”

“Um…. sorry?  Don’t you have a healing factor?”

“Don’t be sorry, Petey. I broke it falling for you.”

“Wade!!”

 

**_Day 12_ **

“Saw you on the front page of the _Daily Bugle_ again this week, Spidey-pie.”

“Jamison is going to have it out for me until I’m old and gray and can’t climb a wall anymore.”

“Just out of curiosity…. “

“Yes, Wade?”

“Why aren’t you on the cover of Vogue?”

Wade wasn’t sure if Petey letting his head fall into the palms of his hands was a good reaction, or a bad one.

<A reaction is a reaction is a reaction, man!>

[Yellow, what does that even **mean**?]

<Dunno. It sounded groovy, though.>

[Are you channelling Austin Powers right now?]

“Yellow, don’t you **dare** start humming _Soul Bossa Nova_!”

<Awww.>

“We’ll never get it out of our heads if you do, and you remember what happened the last time!”

“Just out of curiosity,” Peter interrupted.  “What **did** happen the last time?”

“We tried to start a conga line on the subway and got arrested for indecency.”

“Indecency? In a conga line?”

“It’s not our fault we’ve got snake hips!  We didn’t mean for people to start taking their clothes off!”

“You….hypnotised people….into taking their clothes off….with your hips?”

Peter sounded incredulous, and Wade didn’t blame him. 

“I think some villain released some kind of gas into the subway at the same time, so it wasn’t **just** my hips, as undeniably seductive as they are.” 

Peter chuckled and muttered, so softly that Wade almost didn’t hear it; “That they are.”

 

**_Day 13_ **

[This isn’t working!]

“I know, White. I know.   I’m very unhappy about it all.  I thought for sure flattery and compliments were a winning strategy.”

<Winning strategy, my Aunt Susie’s rear end!>

“Enough with the obscure pop culture references – no-one’s gonna get that one, anyway!  That movie isn’t even considered pop culture!”

<Oh, give me home…>

[Where the asteroids roam…]

“Oh, dear Aunt Mable in up in heaven, you two are stuck in the ‘80’s.“

<Sez you!>

[We’re voices in **your** head, Wade.  That means we get this from **you**.]

<Dun-dun-dun!>

“Somebody put me back in the fridge.”

[Now we’ve moved on to the ‘90’s.  Moving on up the decades one by one, are we?]

<Movin’ on up, you’re movin’ on out, movin’ on up, time to break free - nothing can stop me.>

[Were we even alive in the ‘70’s?]

“That song is from the ‘90’s!”

[Really?  It’s got such a ‘70’s vibe.]

“M People – 1993.  It’s on YouTube.  You can take over my brain while I’m sleeping and go watch it – just leave me out of that. The ‘90’s was trying so hard to be the ‘70’s and we’re trying to forget them both.”

[So, we were alive in the ‘70’s?]

“I was. You weren’t.”

[How does that work?]

“The government hadn’t done nasty, nasty experiments me on yet.  I was only a baby.”

[Oh.]

 

**_Day 14_ **

“Hey, Petey, have – “

“Please stop, Wade.  Really, just stop.”

Peter almost looked like he was going to cry, and that wouldn’t be good, because –

<We’ll have to kill ourselves if we make him cry!>

[We have a knife in our boot, don’t we?]

“Oh, baby-boy, please don’t cry. You know what the boxes want to do to people who make you cry!”

That got him a half-smile, though Peter’s eyes were still shiny with unshed tears.  The young man reached up and scrubbed his sleeve across his face, taking a deep breath before looking right at Wade and asking, “Would White really kill you if you make me cry?”

“Hells, yes, Petey!  White’s already reminded him about the knife in my boot!”

That got an actual chuckle out of his Spidey-pie and he was relieved that both his boxes seemed to be letting go of their homicidal intentions – at least as far as his most fine person was concerned.  Shame to put a hole in his well-developed muscle mass.

[You’re on probation] said White sternly.

<Yeah – no more making our cute little baby-boy cry manly tears!>

“Uh, Petey?”

“Yeah, Wade?”

“Why did I almost make you cry manly tears?”

“I don’t like to be teased – it brings up….stuff.”

“How am I teasing you, my handsome Spider?”

“You keep on, I don’t know, pretending like you think I’m good-looking!  Complimenting me!  Fake-flirting with me!”

<Okay, **what?!** >

[That’s what I want to know. Who did this to our pretty little Spiderling?]

“Peter,” Wade faltered, not sure how to continue. 

[Just ask!  You’re the Merc with the Mouth and he’s the Wisecrackin’ Spider-Man!]

<Use your words!>

Peter was just looking at him, eyes big and shiny, silently waiting for Wade to finish his sentence.

And Wade, for the first time in his miserable, cursed, damned and doomed life, was speechless.

<Fuck!>

[I agree. **Fuck!** ]

Not helping, you two assholes!

“Peter,” Wade tried again.  “Who…who hurt you?”

Peter smiled again, this time a full smile, and asked, “Why?  You gonna kill them?”

<What a good idea!>

[We do have a gun in our other boot, don’t we?]

“The boxes think it’s a good idea, but I’m not so sure.  You don’t like us killing innocents.”

“No, I don’t.  And, truthfully, those people are long gone from my life and I’m never seeing them again. It isn’t worth it.”

“Petey!”  

Wade grabbed Peter by the shoulders and turned him gently, so they were face-to-face and eye-to-eye.  Well, sort – they both still had their masks on, so it was more of an approximation of eye contact, but it was close enough.

“Peter Parker, you would be worth it to us. You **are** worth it to us.  You will **always** be worth it to us.  Capisci?”

Peter tilted his head and looked up at Wade, “You speak Italian, Wade?  That’s not on your Wikipedia page.”

“I miei fan non lo hanno tenuto aggiornato.” 

“Pardon?” 

“My fans haven’t been keeping it updated. “  

“You have fans that update your Wikipedia page?”

Wade shrugged. “They’re supposed to, but people lose interest so easily these days.  A couple of terrible movies and they’re shoving me to one side so they can ship Stony.  Or Stucky.  Or Phlint.”

He sighed. 

“Once you’ve lost the shippers, everything else just goes downhill.”

He brightened.

“Still!  My movies did pretty well and I’m pretty sure I’m relevant again, so maybe they’ll come back?  What do you think?”

“Uh….yeah, I guess so.”

Peter seemed hesitant.”

“You seem hesitant, baby-boy.  Don’t you think so?”

“To be honest, Wade.”

“Yes,” Wade motioned ‘go on’ encouragingly.

“You lost me at ‘ship Stony.’”

“Pe-ter!  You’re a nerd!  A devilishly handsome, adorably lithe, unbelievably sexy nerd, but still a nerd.  You don’t know what shipping is?!”

“Wa-ade!” Peter mimicked.  “Of course I know what shipping is.  What the hell is ‘stony’?”

“That’s the ship portmanteau,” Wade turned away from Peter to face straight ahead, “Ha, betcha didn’t think I knew a big word like that, didja?”

He turned back to face Peter again and continued, “For the Steve Rogers slash Tony Stark ship?”

“Ewwwww!”

“I know, right?”

“Tony’s been like a second father to me since I was fourteen!  And Steve since I was sixteen!  I need brain bleach!”

Wade reach out and patted Peter comfortingly on the arm. 

“It’s okay, baby-boy, just breath through it.  That’s it.  In and out.  We’re breathing through the trauma.  Breathing steadily.”

Peter looked up and, despite the masks, Wade knew he was glaring daggers at him.

There was a moment, a long moment, and then they both burst out laughing.

\-----

**_Day 15_ **

And he was back to where it all started.

Throwing up his hands in frustration, not knowing how Wade was feeling, let alone how **he** was feeling, wondering how everything got so damn complicated.

He was just doing what he did, wasn’t he?  Being a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Saving people was part of that, and Wade was a person.  An interesting person. Who flirted like he breathed.

It just so happened that he’d been breathing in Peter’s space a lot lately. 

So how was he supposed to know what was real and what wasn’t?  It could just be that Wade was flirting with Peter out of, y’know, **proximity**.

A little voice in his head whispered quietly, ‘You could just ask.’

No, no, no – not going there.  Wade probably wouldn’t stop hanging with Peter over that, but it would make things so awkward, and Peter didn’t want awkward with Wade.  It was so wonderfully easy with Wade.  So much easier than the rest of his life.

Wade accepted Peter, quirks and all, **and** he accepted Spider-Man.  He had other friends and they were great. Peter was grateful for M.J. and Flash and Harry.  And for Gwen.  They were the best people in the world.  But they didn’t understand.  Oh, Harry did, to some degree, but none of them really **understood**.

Wade understood.  He got it.  Peter didn’t know **how** , but he did.  Whatever it was that made Peter want, **need** sometimes, to be Spider-Man – Wade got it.  Peter himself didn’t really understand it.  Putting aside great power coming with great responsibility, it was some kind of instinct that Peter just felt. 

And, somehow, Wade knew. And he accepted it.  It was so refreshing to be able to connect with someone like that and Peter didn’t want to give it up.  And asking questions that Wade might not want to give him answers to would be a quick, if not the quickest, way to do that.

Or, if Wade did give him answers, they might be ones he, Peter, didn’t want.  What if the answers were something like, ‘I like you, Petey, but only as a friend.  I wasn’t being serious. I’d flirt with the Green Goblin if we were talking.’

‘What if they aren’t?  What if Wade’s flirting with you because he wants you?  What if you, asking all your questions, just makes everything better?’

Well, at least the little voice in his head was an optimist. 

Peter just didn’t know if he had the courage find out.

He was still trying to make sense of everything, and make a decision about what to do, when his cell phone let out a soft chime.

He pulled it out of his pocket and checked it. 

It was a text from the Avengers.

‘Code D.’

Well… whoever it was, they had **great** timing!

“Heya, baby-boy!”

Somehow, Peter wasn’t surprised when Wade materialised next to him. 

“I can’t stop now, Wade, I’ve got a Code – “

“D.”  Wade finished the sentence for him.

“Yeah, me too.  I came to pick you up.  How fast can you get changed?  Oh!  Do you need a phone booth?”

Peter ducked off into an alley (why are there so many alleys in New York?) and stripped off his civilian clothes, suit already on underneath, and pulling on his mask.

He webbed his civvies up into a bundle high enough on the wall that no-one else would be able to get them, and then turned to Wade and said, “I’m not Superman.”

“Nah,” said Wade, “You’re a million times sexier and climbing walls is much cooler than x-ray vision.”

“We can argue about that later,” said Peter, trying not to smile.   Being with Wade really was so **easy.**   “The Avengers need us.”

“Let’s go save the day!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used google translate for the Italian - apologies to all Italian speakers if I mangled it horribly. Any corrections are welcome.
> 
> We're getting close to the end! I'm thinking one, maybe two, more chapters until this is finished. I can't believe I've made it this far. Huge thanks, hugs and kisses to everyone who's commented and clicked that kudos button. You are all fabulous!


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